


Rumble and Sway

by s_u_n_b_i_r_d



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol references, Angst, Angst and Feels, Aztec Mythology - Freeform, Black Comedy, Christian Lore - Freeform, Constant Death Mention, Cussing, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Love Triangles, May/December Relationship, May/December Romance, Memory Loss, Morbid Humor, Multi, Mythology References, Native American Mythology - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, OT3, Other, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Romance, Sort Of, Strap in guys, There's a mystery afoot, afrikan mythology, and yes i'm keeping it tasteful, because i can't write short stories apparently, but i'll try to make it worth the read so stay with me, but it's my fanfiction so i make the rules, dark themes, death mention, i promise it'll be good just bear with me, memory problems, morbid subjects, mostly through flashbacks and in later chapters though, only sagas, poly ship, regaining lost memories, stanwich, this one's gonna be a little weird, tobacco and smoking references, world mythology - Freeform, yes it's a poly ship and yes it's very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-13 10:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 61,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21492538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_u_n_b_i_r_d/pseuds/s_u_n_b_i_r_d
Summary: It's been almost one year since Stan Pines brought his twin brother back through the portal and righted a terrible wrong. Almost one year since Ford Pines returned to his home dimension. Almost one year since the events of Weirdmageddon, and the terrible sin Ford committed against his own twin for the safety of the universe - a sacrifice that left Stan's mind in ruins, possibly for life. But now, after years of regrets and strife, Stan is finally where he always wanted to be. And all Ford wants is to be the kind of person his brother deserves at his side.But when a familiar face from the darkest moment of Stan's past shows up to collect a thirty-year-old debt, Stan and Ford make it abundantly clear to this strange creature that neither of them are giving up without a fight.And soon, Stan, Ford and one very unlucky Reaper all come to realize that they're in for one Hell of a summer together - whether they like it or not.
Relationships: Dipper Pines/Pacifica Northwest, Ford Pines/Female OC, Ford Pines/OC, Ford Pines/Original Character(s), Ford Pines/Original Female Character(s), Pacifica Northwest & Dipper Pines, Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines, Stan Pines/Female OC, Stan Pines/OC, Stan Pines/OC/Ford Pines, Stan Pines/Original Character(s), Stan Pines/Original Character/Ford Pines, Stan Pines/Original Female Characters, Wendy Corduroy/Original Character(s), stanwich - Relationship, stanwich x oc pairing
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. The Night We Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had all and then most of you
> 
> Some and now none of you
> 
> Take me back to the night we met
> 
> I don't know what I'm supposed to do
> 
> Haunted by the ghost of you
> 
> Take me back to the night we met..."
> 
> \----------------------------
> 
> \- Lord Huron, "The Night We Met"
> 
> \----------------------------

**\--------------------------**

**WINTER, 1982**

**SOMEWHERE IN COLORADO**

**\--------------------------**

"Hang in there, Sixer. I'm coming."

Blood-shot eyes narrowed in determination, Stan Pines tightens his grip on the steering wheel, concentrating on the road ahead with all the energy he has left in him. Driving through the Rocky Mountains at night was always a stupid idea, but navigating them in the winter? During this kind of snowfall? Idiotic. Suicidal. He's taken this route before once, back in the spring of '75, and he remembers it well. These roads are dangerous on a good day, with winding curves, steep cliffs, and downgrades that last for miles on end. If you weren't careful, if you tuned out even once while driving through these mountains, then you could easily lose your life. And here he was, in the ice and the snow, with only the stars, the moon, and the headlights of the Stanmobile to guide his way, driving through the Rockies like he has a death wish.

Easily one of the worst decisions he's made.

But it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

Stan lets out a long, weary sigh. The truth was, when he got the postcard, he was out of cash and out of luck. And with both Fate and his wallet working against him, by the time he left for Oregon, there weren't a lot of options he could take. He didn't have enough money to pay for the gas he would need to take the longer, safer route through the Southern states, where the weather was fair. It was the holiday season, and with prices the way they were, he certainly didn't have enough money to pay for a plane ticket, or even catch a bus. In all honesty, Stan didn't even have enough cash for a motel. Colorado is an expensive state - one night here is two whole days of gas, _at least,_ and he can't afford to sacrifice any of his gas money at all. Oregon is still two or three states away. _Ford_ is still two or three states away.

And he's not going to mismanage what little money he has if it means it will separate him from his brother any longer.

He can't afford a ticket. He can't afford a bed. He was able to scrounge up enough pocket change for some watery gas station coffee - the only food he's had since he started this journey - but if he wants to make it to the Pacific Northwest, then he's really gonna have to watch his wallet.

The road starts to blur in front of him, and Stan hurriedly smacks himself awake and leans forward in his seat. He's exhausted, more than he's ever been in his entire life - but he can't stop, not even to rest. This is a mountain road, and there isn't really anywhere he can pull over. Even if he could, even if he found a place to nap and was able to stop safely, with weather this bad, he'd most likely freeze to death as he slept. In all honesty, Stan had briefly considered making a stop somewhere so he could work his magic and finagle some money out of the locals. Winning some spare cash through a game of cards. Swindling a few suckers out of their wallets through one of his schemes. That sort of thing. But it wouldn't be worth it. Not only would it cut into his travel time, but he couldn't risk getting caught up in some more trouble with the law. Not now. Not when Ford was counting on him to make it to Oregon. Not when his twin brother had reached out to him for the first time in over ten years.

That thought has quite the affect on him, and Stan swallows thickly, his throat tight with emotion. Blinking back the sting of unwanted tears just behind his eyes, Stan keeps one hand on his steering wheel and uses the other to feel around for his thermos. He takes a sip of coffee - it's disgusting, but hey, it's hot - and forces himself to come back to center.

Gravity Falls. Some weird little backwater smack dab in the middle of Oregon that he'd never even heard of before. What Sixer was doing all the way out there, instead of making his home in some big, shiny city somewhere, Stan couldn't even begin to guess. But it didn't matter. For whatever reason, Ford was out there, waiting for him. And if that's where Ford wanted him, then that was his destination.

Out of instinct, Stan's hand reaches for the postcard tucked away in the depths of his coat, right near his heart. Breathing out through his nose, he runs his fingers over the smooth surface of the paper, and he can see his brother's neat handwriting in his mind's eye. He remembers the flood of relief he felt when he saw Ford's name and address on the top corner, and the short message - "Please come!" - written right next to it.

And for a moment, he forgets both his exhaustion and his hunger as those words ignite his resolve.

"I'm coming, Ford. Wait for me."

A fresh fire burns in Stan's eyes as he settles into his seat. He presses his hand close to his chest, to the postcard sent by his twin.

"I'm getting to Gravity Falls even if it kills me."

Minutes pass, then a half hour, then a whole hour. Stan downs the last of his terrible coffee - it's cold by now - and drives on, slowly but steadily. He rounds each corner as carefully and as safely as he can, keeping far away from the sharp, steep drops that grow ever sharper and steeper. It's not exactly a blizzard out there - yet - but December's wrath sends heavy, steady snowfall that lands on his windshield almost as fast as the windshield wipers clear it away. There's a noticeable chill in the car as well. As beautiful as she is, the Stanmobile has some years on her now, and it shows. Stan's got the heater turned on full blast, but it's still not enough to keep every single breath he takes from coming out in a fine, silvery fog. Shivering underneath his shabby, cheap clothes, Stan uses one hand to work with the heater and see if he can't convince it to work with him some more. Through bursts of fickle static, the radio begins to play a John Denver song:

_"He was born in the summer of his 27th year, coming home to a place he'd never been before_

_He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again_

_You might say he found a key for every door_

_When he first came to the mountains, his life was far away on the road and hanging by a song_

_But the strings already broken and he doesn't really care_

_It keeps changing fast, and it don't last for long_

_And the Colorado Rocky Mountain high, I've seen it raining fire in the sky_

_The shadows from the starlight are softer than a lullaby_

_Rocky Mountain high, Colorado, Rocky Mountain high...."_

The music is some of John's finest - sweet and gentle, with promises of summer and all of the beauty nature has to offer. And the longer Stan listens to it as he navigates through stressful, life-threatening winter road conditions, the deeper his frown gets. In the end, he only makes through about half the song before his irritation finally takes over. With a sour face, he reaches out and fiddles with the radio dial, trying to tune into any other station, even if it's something lame, like country, or hippie music. Even if it's - gulp! - _Christian Rock._ But no matter what station he tunes into, they're all playing this exact song. _All_ of them. _Every last one._ Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he gives up and shuts off the radio with a huff. 

And then he's alone.

Without the radio and its company, the world is completely silent. The snow and shadows of the Colorado winter seem to swallow up any noise, big or small. When Stan lets out another tired sigh, he jumps a little, because it's somehow louder than it should be. This quiet, this stillness...it's almost suffocating. It's creepy.

Stan looks down for a moment. According to his watch, he's been behind the wheel for eighteen hours now. In another few minutes, it will be nineteen. His bones ache, his eyes ache, and his head feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears. Every single part of him is tired. Everything hurts. Everything, of course, except for his fingers, which are starting to go numb from his hard grip on the steering wheel. But he has to keep going. At the very least, he has to make it through the mountains. Groaning in pain, Stan straightens up a little bit, rolling his shoulders and cricking his neck from side to side. It actually manages to do him some good - not much, but some - and once he gets comfortable, he settles himself for another two or three hours worth of a drive until he makes it through the Rockies.

Stan drives on. He keeps going for a long, long time. And as he drives, he decides the silence isn't as oppressive as he thought it was before. It's no longer claustrophobic or ominous. It's just...quiet. Peaceful. As he continues, he doesn't even notice when his breathing begins to slow, or when his eyelids grow heavy. The Colorado winter whispers through the tiny cracks of the windows and bites its way past his tattered, stained clothes - and yet, he's sinking deeper and deeper into a familiar sense of warmth. He does manage to notice that it's getting pretty hard to keep his head up, but the more he tries to fight it, the more he finds it lolling from side to side. The harder he tries to stay awake, the more he finds himself giving in.

His heartbeat is steady. His vision is blurring. And his eyelids...well. He can't fight it this time.

Stan slumps forward as his eyes start to close...

\-------------------------- 

_"Cheer up, buddy! Look! One of these days, you and me are gonna sail away from this dumb town! We'll hunt for treasure, get all the girls, and be an unstoppable team of adventurers."_

_"You really mean it?"_

_"High six?"_

_"High six!"_

\-------------------------- 

_....Ford?_

_FORD!_

Stan jolts awake at the sound of his brother's voice in his head - 

\- Just in time to see the stretch of road in front of him come to an end.

"AAAAAAH!"

Panicking, Stan grabs the wheel and makes a left as fast as he can - but on this slippery, icy road, it's much too sharp of a turn. Soon he's spinning around and around, unable to control anything, unable to stop, unable to do much of anything but scream - and the blood drains from his face as the car starts to move _backwards._ And then the Stanmobile is falling. For a moment Stan finds himself weightless, and the butterflies in his stomach go crazy as gravity sucks him down and leaves him in this sick, terrifying freefall.

And then.

Stan's seatbelt snaps as the car begins to tumble down the mountain. With nothing to protect him or tie him down, his body is thrown around and around. The world is a series of painful collisions and flashes of light and shadow. Everything's happening so fast, but before he can think or even react, he hits his head on the dashboard. Hard.

And darkness overtakes him.

\-------------------------- 

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness. Then.

Howling winter winds. Terrible, unyielding cold. Heaviness. Pain.

As Stan's senses begin to turn back on, one after the other, he finds himself slowly fading out of unconsciousness and back into the waking world. Groaning softly, his eyes start to open. "...Wha...What happened?" His voice is weak, his words slurring together as he winces from the sharp aches in his head and his body. Stan blinks slowly as he finds the taste of blood on his lips, and it takes him another second to understand that it's his. "What's...?"

But just as he's trying to voice that thought...he remembers.

Pushing himself up off of the thick blanket of fresh snow, Stan looks around, squinting through the night and trying to understand where he is. It's hard to see through the darkness, and it's made even harder by the fact that he's seeing double thanks to the concussion he received earlier. But before long, his vision clears up and he catches sight of the steep hill he tumbled down. His eyes follow the marks his car left behind as it rolled down, down to where it now lies, buried in the snow, in the middle of a clearing circled by frozen pines.

Where he now lies. Under the Stanmobile. Pinned. Trapped.

"No...N..._N-no!"_

Breathing faster, Stan begins to panic as he tries to summon his strength and wiggle his way free out of the driver's side of vehicle. The door was ripped off completely on the way down, and the car lies at an angle, tilted in such a way where Stan is wedged between the car and the ground. As far as he can tell, he hasn't broken anything, a miracle in and of itself, but he certainly can't get himself free. He tries to. But he can't. No matter how hard his efforts are, he can't go forwards, or backwards. He tries to see if he can dig his way out by burrowing through the snow beneath him, but if he does, he might shift the snow beneath the vehicle.

In other words, if he tries to dig himself out, he risks being crushed to death by his own car.

But in all honesty, that would be a mercy.

It's the middle of the night, and he's trapped beneath the Stanmobile. He and his car lie hidden from the view of anyone on the main road, and he hasn't seen a single driver on this mountain besides himself, not since sundown. The snow is coming down hard, blanketing him under a layer of fresh powder. The winds slice into his skin like knives.

If he doesn't find a way out of this soon, he's going to freeze to death.

When that thought sinks in, it leaves him shaken, and for one terrible moment, Stan is really, truly, afraid. Like a stone thrown into water, he finds himself sinking into despair and fear. But before he can drown in that fear, he fights back. Trembling from the cold, Stan's teeth begin to chatter as he summons every last ounce of determination and strength he has left. "C-come on, Stan! Get...get up!" Burying his gloves into the snow, Stan pushes himself up as far as he can, trying to force just a little more space, just enough room for him to wiggle loose and get free. Beads of sweat start to form on his brow, and his eyes squeeze shut. "For once in your life Stan, _do something right!"_

He struggles, and he struggles, and he struggles some more. Time passes as Stan tries, every way he can, to free himself from his own grave. But the harder he tries, the more he wears himself out, and the more exhausted he becomes. And it just keeps getting colder.

Finally, there comes a point to where he lies there under the Stanmobile, willing himself to move, praying for it - 

But he can't. His body just doesn't respond.

"...S-Sixer, I..." Stan struggles to get the words out. His teeth are chattering almost too hard for him to speak, and he can't even feel his lips anymore. The snow that's been steadily piling on top of him now threatens to obscure him from view. He can't feel his hands. He can't feel his feet. In fact, he can't feel much of anything at all. As Stan lies there, shivering under winter's brutality, his throat gets tight again. And the tears that he forced back before are now starting to fall. "F-F-Ford, I...." Stan trails off for a moment, before letting out a sob and slumping forward into the snow. "Ford, I'm _sorry..."_

The woods are silent as Stan breaks down, struggling to take in shaky breath after shaky breath. But it's harder than it should be. Breathing is torture. The air is so cold, it feels like tiny razors are passing through his nose and down into his lungs. His tears sting as they slide down his face, but he can't stop crying. So this is it. This is how it ends. With him, all alone in the snow, jobless, penniless, friendless - 

And when they find him, when the police find the car, find his body, sift through dozens of fake IDs and manage to contact his family...none of them will mourn him. Not his mother. Not his father. Not Shermie, the little brother who was only a baby the last time they saw each other.

Not even Ford.

Stan grits his teeth in despair. One chance. He had once chance to talk it out with the best friend whose life he accidentally destroyed. He had one chance to fix everything - and he blew it. Ford was counting on him, and once again, Stan let him down. Now no one will be sorry he's dead. He's going to die here, in the snow and the ice, alone and forgotten. Rejected. Cursed.

His whole existence has been one big curse on everyone and everything around him.

A harsh wind blows through the woods, and Stan curls up into himself as much as he can. The tears have stopped by now. The snowdrifts that have formed around his car leave him hidden, and nearly buried. His head grows heavy, and as his muscles begin to relax, his eyes close.

This time, he doesn't fight it.

\-------------------------- 

_"Wherever we go, we go together!"_

_"High six?"_

_"High six!"_

\-------------------------- 

....In the distance, he hears a train.

Stan's eyes remain closed, but even so, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. There aren't any trains in this part of Colorado.

So why does he hear one?

And why does it sound so close?

Then, out of nowhere, another sound suddenly breaks the peaceful silence of the winter woods.

Footsteps.

_Footsteps!_

Stan's eyes shoot open. Slowly, painfully, he raises his head and looks around, feeling his heart lift.

Clouds start to pass over the moon, and the shadowy winter woods darken even more. But despite that, Stan is still able to see the dark figure stepping out of the trees. He doesn't realize it right away - he's half frozen, and the tears he cried earlier are making his eyelashes stick together - but through a foggy mind and even foggier vision, relief floods him when he sees that the figure is walking over to him. "Hhh...Hhhh!..." Stan opens his mouth to try to call out for help, but with the way his body is nearly convulsing from the cold, the words do not manage to find their way out of his lips. He reaches out to the figure, desperately trying to speak. "Hhhhh...hhhel..."

But then, something strange thing happens. Behind Stan, the lights of the car radio start to glow, and the volume dial slowly turns itself up. Through the cacophany of static, the radio finally finds a station, and as the white noise shifts into gentle guitar music, Stan jolts upward in surprise as he hears a familiar song blossoming forth:

_"Oooooooooo......Ooooooooooo......Ooooooooooo...."_

"Wh-wha...?" Stan blinks in confusion, looking over his shoulder for only a moment before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the stranger walking towards him. "Hhh...hhHey." Somehow, by some divine miracle, he finds it in him to speak, and in a hoarse, shaking voice, he cries out to the only other person in the woods. "H-Hey! _Hey!_ O-Over h-h-here!"

_"Mama, take this badge from me..."_

Somewhere over Stan's head, a single raven cries out, while another flies across the clearing and disappears into the branches of a tree. Stan ignores them both as he flags the stranger down, watching the other person steadily march through the snow. "H-Hey! I n-n-need s-some h-help! P-please!"

As Stan's breath pours out of his mouth like steam, the stranger in black waves casually back to him in the distance.

Any other day, Stan would have immediately noticed that something was off. He would have wondered why the stranger was so calm, never breaking their leisurely pace as they walked towards the site of a car crash. He wouldn't have missed certain unnerving details, like how they didn't seem to be dressed for the winter, or that they left no footprints behind them in the snow. But here, on the brink of Death, Stan doesn't notice. And if he did? He wouldn't care.

_"I can't use it anymore...."_

"Stanley? Stanley Pines?"

That voice, low and a little raspy, rings out through the woods like a bell. Stan straightens up a little in shock at the sound of his name - not an alias he's made up. His actual, real name. "Y-yeah..." he whispers, his eyes wide. He laughs nervously as the stranger walks ever closer. "Yeah, h-how'd you..?"

_"It's gettin' dark, too dark to see...."_

But then the stranger finally comes to a stop in front of him. They crouch down on their knees to talk, and as the clouds finally pass overhead, moonlight shines down on them both. Stan lets out a grateful laugh, and brings himself up on his elbows to get a good look at the woman kneeling in front of him - 

And his smile fades. And his heart sinks.

Because even in this weak light, one thing is abundantly clear.

Whoever she is...she's not human.

_"Feels like I'm knockin' on Heaven's door..."_

"W-who are you?" Stan hears himself ask, looking up in fear.

"Hn." The lady in black laughs softly without any malice. She tips her wide-brimmed hat upwards, and for the very first time, he can see her eyes properly. "You know who I am," she gently replies. 

Stan swallows as he gazes upon the beautiful woman before him. Her eyes are green. Her clothes are black.

Her wings block out the stars.

_"Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door, hey, hey, hey hey yeah..."_

_Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door...."_

The woman in black smiles, and it's incredibly comforting and utterly terrifying all at once. "I'm here for you, Stanley."

Stan's blood runs cold as she reaches out and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. As her eyes start to glow, she gives Stan a kind, firm nod, and the wings on her back stretch up into the sky.

"It's time to go home."

_"Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door, ooh, ooh yeah,"_

_Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door, ayy, hey yeah..."_

The two stare at each other in silence as the snow slowly rains down from the sky. Around them, the song from the radio echoes through the winter woods like a hymn, like a eulogy. And somewhere in the forest, hidden from the people and the ravens overhead, a fox and a rabbit poke their heads out from underneath a bush, hold their breath...

And watch.


	2. Ends of the Earth (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm clever as can be
> 
> And I'm very quick
> 
> But don't forget
> 
> We've only got so many tricks -
> 
> No one lives forever..."
> 
> \----------------------------------
> 
> "No One Lives Forever," by Oingo Boingo
> 
> \----------------------------------

\-----------------------

**SPRING 2013**

**REPUBLIC OF IRELAND**

\-----------------------

Below the decks of the Stan O' War II, Stanley Pines woke up screaming.

_"AAAAAAAH!"_

Thrashing around in a panic, he rolled off of the bed and landed in a graceless heap on the floor, his shouts of pain and fear muffled under the sheets. Throwing off the blankets, he bolted upright and whirled around as he tried to remember where he was.

It took longer than it should have.

Breathing heavily and scrambling for his glasses on the bedside table, Stan pulled himself up off the ground and looked around at the familiar, friendly surroundings of sleeping quarters built for two people. Two beds. Two nightstands. Two desks by the walls, one piled high with research, papers and scientific notes, the other littered with toffee peanuts and comic books. Pin-up girls and star maps. Brass knuckles and ray guns. A bookshelf crammed with encyclopedias and a single, well-worn paperback copy of _The Duchess Approves._

Home. This was home.

"Stan?!"

Just then, a very familiar face kicked the bedroom door open, and no less than three arrows flew through the air and into a saucy poster.

"Stan, I'm here!"

Oblivious to the coat rack he knocked over during his dramatic entrance, Ford Pines stood in the doorway with a crossbow in his hands. When his eyes fell on his twin, he dropped his weapon and marched over. "Stan! What's wrong?! I heard you screaming! Are you alright?!"

"I..." Stan ran a hand through his messy grey hair, looking away in embarrassment. "Y-yeah. I'm okay, Sixer. Uh..." He eyed the abandoned crossbow and the arrows poking out of the wall with mild bemusement. "....Good morning?" he said at last.

"Oh. Um." Ford turned pink and glanced at the mild destruction he had left in his haste. "...Good morning."

Sighing wearily, Stan pulled himself to his feet and stretched his arms above his head. As he did, Ford analyzed everything from Stan's pale face to his slightly jerky body movements, and even with his back turned, he could read his brother's body language and frowned in concern. "Stanley, you're...shaking," he said at last. "A _lot._ Are you sure you're okay?"

Stan's only reply was a sleepy grunt as he walked over to the other side of the room and fixed himself in the bathroom mirror.

"Stanley - "

"It's _fine,_ Sixer," Stan muttered after a moment or two. "It was just...y'know." He paused for a moment and gestured with his hands, trying to come up with the right words. "It was just a bad dream. A nightmare, or something. I'll be alright."

"...I see." Picking up his weapon and slipping it back underneath his coat, Ford took a step forward. "What was it about?"

"...What was what about?"

"Your nightmare, Stanley. What happened?"

Stan fell silent and didn't respond for a moment. And when he finally did, it wasn't with an answer, but a question. "What's the date?"

"I..." Ford blinked in confusion. _"What?"_

"The date. What day is it?"

While Stan washed his face in the sink, Ford glanced at his Star Trek calendar on the other side of the room. "It's the 13th!" he called out.

"And the year?"

There was a beat of silence as a crestfallen look passed over Ford's face. As Stan caught sight of him in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, he inwardly kicked himself when he saw the barely hidden fear in his brother's eyes.

But just like that, Ford shook it off and straightened up. "2013," he responded dutifully, coughing into his hand. "And it's a Saturday."

"...Right..." muttered Stan, nodding slowly as he grabbed a towel to dry his face. "...Right..."

When he lowered the towel, Stan noticed that the fear on Ford's face was slowly changing into suspicion, and he immediately forced a bright smile on his face. Ever the showman, he chuckled as he walked back to Ford and clapped him on the shoulder. "'Course it is! Don't know why it slipped my mind. That dream must have really messed with my head or something, Sixer."

Ford jumped at his brother's touch, fiddling with his glasses nervously and raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose it did," he said carefully. "What, uh, what was it about exactly?"

"Pssht." Stan's grin widened as he shoved Ford playfully. "Who cares? Whatever it was, it's gone now. And I ain't gotta worry about it ever again!" And with that, he strode over to the closet and rifled through his wardrobe. "Anyway, I'm gonna go ahead and get dressed." He turned around and gave Ford a cheerful thumbs up. "See you in the kitchen?"

To his immense relief, his brother's next smile was a genuine one. "Sounds good, Stanley. I'll leave you to it."

Ford gave Stan a light wave and headed out of the room, sheepishly putting the coat rack back in its place and taking the arrows out of the wall as he left. As Stan got dressed, he could hear Ford shuffling around in the other room, probably making breakfast, judging by the smell of ham steak and coffee in the air. In the distance, he heard his brother turn on some music for background noise. And to Stan's surprise, familiar lyrics began to bleed through the walls:

_"And the Colorado Rocky Mountain high, I've seen it raining fire in the sky_

_The shadows from the starlight are softer than a lullaby_

_Rocky Mountain high, Colorado, Rocky Mountain high, Colorado...."_

Suddenly, Stan stumbled over his own feet, and as he stood there, breathless, a dozen disjointed concepts hit him hard all at once.

Snow. Ice. Weightlessness. Trees. Music. Darkness. Danger.

Wings.

For a moment, he could only stand there, paralyzed by the chill running down his spine. As he slowly came back to reality, Stan glanced at the calendar on the far wall, then looked over to an object sitting on the corner of Ford's desk.

He stared at it for a long time.

\-------------------------------------

"Oh, hey, Stanley, I just finished up with - hey, what?! No, don't - ! Stan, what are you doing?!"

Arms laden high with two breakfast platters full of ham, eggs and toast, Ford watched in horror as Stan casually breezed into the kitchen with a frown. Without warning, he made a beeline for the music player, snatched the John Denver cassette tape within and chucked it out the window before seating himself at the table. Nearly tripping on the floor in his haste, Ford set the plates down on the table with a clatter and rushed to the window just in time to see a seagull dive out of nowhere and carry the unlucky tape to parts unknown. "Stanley, what on Earth was that for?!" he snapped angrily, whirling around to face his twin. "That cassette tape was a classic!"

"Eh, you'll thank me later," Stan replied as he dumped some sugar cubes into his coffee. "That hippie music will rot your head if you listen to it for too long."

"I - wha-?! You - ! Ugh." Ford groaned loudly and ran a hand over his face. "You're impossible," he mumbled grumpily.

"Yeah, yeah, cry me a river." Stan smiled. "Now, c'mon. Sit down and eat. Your food's getting cold."

Ford did so (albeit with a sigh and a _formidable_ death glare), and for a time, the brothers ate in comfortable silence. After a while, however, Stan glanced up at his twin over his coffee mug and frowned at what he saw. Ford had always been an easy book to read, ever since they were kids. As Stan got older, lying only got easier, but even now, Ford wore his heart on his sleeve even when he didn't realize it. There was a telltale look on his brother's troubled face, and as Stan watched him sullenly poke his eggs around his breakfast plate, he started to understand that it was for a deeper reason than a John Denver cassette tape.

_"What's the date?"_

_"I...What?"_

_"The date. What day is it?"_

Wincing as the morning's previous events played over again in his head, Stan took another bite of ham steak before looking out the window. The sun was rising over the ocean, the sky soft and pink with promises of a beautiful, perfect day ahead. Seabirds cried out over the sounds of the waves, and as those waves rocked the boat back and forth ever so slightly, the air hung heavy with the smell of salt and ocean life. It was a beautiful Irish morning, and it gave Stan an idea.

Plan formulating quickly in his head, Stan cleared his throat to get his brother's attention. "...It's one helluva view, huh Sixer?" he asked, jerking his head at the window. As Ford looked in surprise up, his smile grew wider. "Sure brings back memories."

Ford perked up at that, sitting up a little straighter than before. Stan pretended not to notice as he took another sip of coffee and looked back out the window. "Hey, do you remember when we were kids and Mom let us listen to one of her radio dramas about pirates?" He laughed and shook his head at the thought. "We spent the next two weeks after that trying to dig up buried treasure."

"Y...Yeah. Yeah!" Ford pushed his glasses up with his finger, his expression brightening. "But we never found anything because we lived in _ Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey!"_

"And _nothing_ good ever happens in New Jersey."

"We'd always stay out all day long trying to find something, and we'd always come back home crying - "

"But we still kept trying anyways, because we were kids and we didn't know any better - "

"So one day Mom took us out to the beach for a swim - "

"And suddenly, she 'discovered' this huge 'X' made out of seashells and rocks - "

"And when we started digging there - "

"We found a huge box full of 'pirate treasure' - "

"And it was just a bunch of - "

_"Just a bunch of fake jewelry and bottle caps spray painted gold?"_ they finished in unison.

They stared at each other for a beat before they burst out laughing.

Ford snorted - actually snorted - as he tried to catch his breath. "You were so excited!"

"Yeah, because I didn't know it was a set-up, you dope!" Stan shot back, grinning and blushing. "And stop acting so high and mighty, Sixer, you fell for it too!"

"Remember how she kept up the act through the entire thing? And told us we were the best treasure hunters in the city?"

"Yeah." Stan chuckled. "She even took us out for ice cream afterwards to 'celebrate our discovery!'"

"Remember how you tried to pay for yours with some of the bottle caps?"

Stan laughed again, reminiscing on the ice cream man's affronted face before falling silent for a moment, debating on whether or not his question was worth asking. In the end, he decided to risk it. "....Did she ever tell us the truth about that day?" Stan scratched the back of his neck. "I..." He paused and sighed. "I can't remember if she ever came clean about it or not."

Ford was quiet for a moment, and Stan's stomach sank at the thought that he might have miscalculated. But to his relief, Ford didn't seem upset at all. "I don't think so," his brother admitted, taking a sip of his coffee before he continued. "It's been years since I spoke to Mom, but knowing her, she probably just kept it to herself and let us believe in the lie. She was the one who had to watch us come home crying because we couldn't find anything at the beach." Ford lowered his eyes, his gaze a little sad. "I guess seeing us that heartbroken all the time really got to her. Mom wasn't perfect, but she wanted us to have faith in our dreams, even if they were on the silly side, y'know?"

A faint memory suddenly flickered in Stan's head, and he voiced it out loud slowly as it came back to him. "She...she always said that sometimes...little white lies were..._okay_ to tell if no one got hurt." He paused, repeating those words over in his head a few times before looking down at his plate in thought. "I guess that was just one of them," he said at last.

Ford smiled. "She was pretty great."

"She was a peach," sighed Stan wistfully, and what came out next was nothing but the truth. "I really miss her sometimes."

After a moment, Stan looked back up at Ford with a fresh grin. "Well...that's enough of a schmooze-fest for now!" Standing up from his chair, he collected the dishes and took them to the sink. He began to wash them, and as he did, he looked over his shoulder. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Sixer? We doing some monster-hunting? Anomaly finding? Inter-dimensional tear repair?"

"Oh! Uh...Well." Ford bashfully scratched the back of his head with a laugh. "We...don't have anything planned, actually."

"Wait, really?"

Stan watched as his brother stood up and shrugged. "Sorry, Stanley," he said "But I'm afraid we've investigated every anomaly, studied every monster, solved every mystery, and fixed every weak spot in the space-time continuum we came out here to look at." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes growing distant as he began to pace back and forth the way he always did when he was thinking. "I've always wanted to explore Ireland and study the various supernatural creatures and paranormal anomalies this land's mythology had to offer. And when Weirdmageddon hit back in Gravity Falls, all of the weak spots between our dimension and the multiverse were left weaker than before. As a consequence, all of the supernatural hotspots _here_ were showing alarming signs of becoming potential portals to other worlds. So of course, we came running, and for the past few months, we've been working our butts off trying to juggle each investigation and mission we set out to complete - "

"Hey, Doctor Exposition - I was here for literally _each and every one_ of those investigations and missions, why are you talking like I don't already know all of this - ?"

"In any case, we've finished with all of that." Ford began counting off of his fingers one by one. "We've visited every haunted castle, checked every fairy fort, found every cryptid, searched for and investigated every urban legend - classified or unclassified - "

"Uh, if they're _urban legends,_ aren't they all unclassified - ?"

" - we've patched up every tear in reality we've found, reinforced each and every potential weak spot. Stan...we're _done_ here."

Ford walked over to his brother, threw his arm around him, and smiled. "Stanley, I can say with complete and absolute confidence that we've completed almost everything we had to do! We've gotten a lot of research completed, collected important data, and most of all, nothing dangerous is getting through to our world! Not now, not later, not ever again!"

Stan blinked before laughing and slugging his brother in the shoulder. "Ford, that's GREAT! I can't believe we...Wait." He paused and raised an eyebrow, thinking over Ford's words. "'Almost everything'?"

"Well, it's not something we specifically came here to do," admitted Ford, "But there is _one_ last errand we need to run."

He nodded to the wall where his messenger bag hung on a hook right by the door. After a moment or two, Stan's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh. Doy." He clapped a hand to his forehead. "I forgot all about that! Well, what are we sitting around here for?" Finished with the dishes, he wiped his hands on a nearby towel. "Let's get going!"

"Agreed!" Ford grabbed his messenger bag, peeking at the item hidden away inside. "It's rude to keep her waiting for so long. But it'll be a rough journey, you know, Stanley. A LOT of unsavory characters will be after this, so we'll need to be careful." He looked up. "Got your weapon?"

"Yes, Ford," groaned Stan, moving his jacket to reveal the ray gun Ford had gifted to him last Christmas.

"Do you have your backup?" asked Ford, hands on his hips.

"_Yes,_ Ford," groaned Stan, rolling his eyes and pulling out his knuckle dusters.

"Do you have your first aid ki - "

_"I have my first aid kit, **Ford - "**_

"What about your - ?"

"Hey! Poindexter! Would you relax?!" Stan reached out and gave his brother a noogie. "I'll be _fine,_ now come on! We....oh."

"What?" asked Ford, wriggling out of his twin's grasp and fixing his crooked glasses. "What's wrong?"

"I...Huh." Stan tapped his chin. "Come to think of it, I actually _did_ forget something." He turned to leave. "Let me go grab it really quick."

"Alright. I'll meet you up on deck."

"Sounds good."

Five minutes later, Ford leaned over the side of the Stan O' War II, looking out over the green slopes of Ireland with a fond smile on his face. When he heard footsteps behind him, he turned around, his eyes falling on the item Stan held in his hands. "A...lantern?" Ford adjusted his glasses with a frown. "Stan, it's nine in the morning."

"Yeah, but...I got a hunch this might come in handy later." Stan winked. "Trust me on this one."

"Well..." Ford glanced down at the lantern one last time, fiddling with his glasses and shrugging. "If you say so."

Hopping onto the dock, Stan held his hand up for his brother expectantly. "High six?"

Ford smiled, shook his head fondly, and reciprocated. "High six."

Easing his brother off of their trawler, Stan shoved him playfully and suddenly broke off into a run. A few seconds later, Ford took off after him. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed, and as the morning sun shone over the ocean, the Pines twins chased after each other and ran towards their last adventure.

\-------------------------------

"Run faster, Stan!"

Stumbling deeper into the densest, darkest part of the forest, Stan chased after his brother, gritting his teeth and cursing his old age as he struggled to keep up. "Ford, what's wrong?!" he panted. "Are we in danger?! "

Too preoccupied with navigating through the thick fog around them, Ford didn't answer.

But he didn't need to.

Somewhere behind them, there came a noise - a fierce, echoing roar, followed by what sounded like thousands upon thousands of distant footsteps and the faintest hint of ghostly music, strange and sad and utterly haunting in its nature. Stan looked over his shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of whatever was coming after them, but here in the part of the woods where no human was welcome, there was no sunlight for which to see. "What the heck are those things?!"

His brother didn't answer. Instead, he skidded to a stop.

Stan followed suit, looking around in the dim light. They had come to a crossroads with three different paths, each darker and more ominous than the last. Biting his lip in fear, Ford held up the glowing mushroom he had been using for a light, trying to decide which path to take. Looking back over his shoulder one last time, Stan opened the lantern and took out some matches, but a six-fingered hand clamped down around his wrist before he could light one. "Don't! Fire will only draw them straight to us!"

"Draw WHAT straight to us?!" demanded Stan, closing the lantern again. "Ford! What are we running from?!"

"Something I first witnessed back in the Pacific Northwest!" Sweat dripping off his brow, Ford backed up into a nearby hawthorne and slid down its bark, thousand-yard stare on his face. "I found them deep in the heart of the Oregon woods when I first began studying the anomalies in Gravity Falls! There were...there were _so many of them_ then, but...but there's gotta be HUNDREDS of them now!"

"What do we do?!"

"What does it look like we're doing?!" Another roar echoed through the woods, and Ford shot back up on his feet and looked fearfully over his shoulder before grabbing his twin by the wrist. "Run, Stanley! _Run for your life!"_

Choosing a forest path at random, Ford bolted through the eerie woods, dragging Stan behind him. As they jumped over tree roots and ducked under branches, Stan could hear the footsteps chasing after them like distant thunder, drawing ever nearer no matter how fast the brothers ran. The music was louder now, a chorus of distant, mournful voices singing together to lyrics that were just out of range for Stan to comprehend. Lungs and legs on fire, Stan, looked back over his shoulder in horror. What scared him most wasn't how much closer the music sounded, or how many voices were singing it.

What scared him was the feeling that he had heard the song before.

"AAAH!"

Too busy looking back, Stan didn't even notice the fallen branch in his way. Ford called out his name as Stan tripped and tumbled down a small hill, rolling to the bottom and cursing every time his body crashed into the grass. Finally, he came to a stop, and when the world stopped spinning and he pulled himself up, Stan found himself sitting in the middle of a beautiful meadow. Glowing mushrooms and strange luminescent moss were the only sources of light here. the sun completely blocked out by the dense treetops overhead. Feeling around for his matches and coming up short, Stan gripped his lantern tightly and called out into the wilds around him. "Ford?! Ford?!" Fearing for the worst as he waited for a reply, Stan ran around, searching for a familiar set of glasses in the darkness. "Sixer, where are you?! _Whoa!"_

A pair of six-fingered hands grabbed him from behind and clamped around his mouth. Hastily shushing him and pulling him down underneath a bush, Ford steadied his breath and lay in wait for the creatures that still moved through the trees.

"Sixer, wh - Mmph!" Losing patience, Stan shoved the hand that clamped over his mouth and grabbed his twin by the shoulders. "Sixer, what are these things?!"

"Stanley, PLEASE! Their ears are extremely sensitive - !"

"Sweet Moses, Ford, don't leave me in the dark here! If what you're saying is true, and our lives really are in danger, then give me something to go off of! Tell me what we're up against!"

The sound of a snapping twig rang out through the meadow, and the boys turned their heads towards on the far side of the clearing. Small shapes began to materialize out of the mists that still rolled thick around the bottoms of the trees, and that seemed to ignite something in Ford. "Alright," he hissed quietly, backing up against a tangle of tree roots. "Alright listen carefully, Stanley. These creatures are not to be trifled with. They're an unholy race descended from two of the most heinous supernatural entities I've ever encountered. They are an amalgamation of all of their worst traits, distilled down into one deadly little package. Packages that ALWAYS travel in herds." Eyes fixated on the things that now started to walk through the meadow, Ford readied his ray gun, his gaze serious. "They're ugly as sin, and a living nightmare I hoped I would never have the misfortune to relive. Everything they are will push a person's sanity to their absolute limits, and if we're exposed to them for too long, I fear they'll drive us mad."

"Angry mad or crazy mad?"

"First one, then the other."

Slipping on his knuckle dusters, Stan's blood ran cold as the creatures in the meadow creeped closer and closer. The music grew louder as more of the herd started to wander through the grasses, and as they did, Stan began to be able to make out some of the lyrics to the music:

_"Oh, ----- ---, --- pipes, the pipes --- -------,_

_\---- glen -- glen, --- down the mountain ----,_

_\--- summer's gone, and all the ----- falling,_

_\--'- you, --'- you must go --- - must bide...."_

"Hang on..." Stan squinted, clutching his head with both hands as he thought. "Hang on I think I KNOW this song - "

"Shh-shh-shh! ...There they are." Eyes wide with fear, Ford crawled on his belly towards the edge of the bush, Stan following suit just behind him. "The one creature in this dimension I despise more than any other. The one creature I fear the most."

As the herd moved closer, a single critter clambered forward through the dewy grass. As it turned its head, Stan caught sight of its face for the very first time...and felt his jaw drop in utter confusion. Then in disgust. Then in anger. "What the - ?"

_"Lepricorns."_ Ford shuddered and gripped his gun. "If we stand still and stay silent, we MAY survive this."

Beside him, Stan paid no attention to his words. Instead, he gawked at the critter, then at his brother, then at the critter again before falling face-flat on the ground and groaning loudly. "You gotta be **fucking** shitting me."

"Stanley, what are you - ?! STANLEY, NO!" Ford watched with terrified eyes as his brother crawled out from under the bush and dusted himself off, grumbling curses under his breath as he did so. "Stanley! Get back here this instant!"

Stan ignored him as he marched towards the tiny little critter that was slowly making his way over to him. It was just a bit smaller than the average housecat, with four hooves, a rainbow-colored tail, and a single shining horn poking out of its forehead, out of which, the song "Danny Boy" was (somehow) playing. Its beard was thick and bushy, and every bit as colorful as its tail. As it tilted its face upwards to take a look at Stan, its vacant eyes sparkled with delight and it stood on its back legs to tip its tiny green bowler hat at Stan. _**"TOP OF THE MORNING TO YA!"**_ it chirped gleefully.

Stan stared down at the lepricorn and promptly burst out into loud, hysterical laughter. "_This_ is what you're so afraid of?!" he howled, turning back to Ford. "These goofy little runts?! Hah!" As a few more lepricorns came up and greeted him in the exact same manner, Stan snatched up the first lepricorn and held it up for closer inspection. "They look like something Mabel drew up after a sugar high!"

"Stanley, stop!" Ford glanced around fearfully as dozens upon dozens of lepricorns poured out of the trees, from behind bushes and underneath rocks. As they came nearer, the music each creature made began to overlap, growing louder and more disorienting by the second as their smiles grew wider and wider. No longer caring about staying hidden, Ford began to shout frantically as their grins stretched wider than their faces should have been physically capable of. "STANLEY, for the love of God, _get back here where it's safe!"_

"Aw, come on, Sixer!" Stan snickered as he poked the strange little creature in its fat belly, prompting a few happy squeals as the lepricorn kicked its little legs. "They're....well, they ain't winning any beauty pageants any time soon, but they can't be..._that_...dangerous?"

Stan's eyes widened, the grin slowly fading from his face as he finally noticed the ruckus around him. The music was almost deafening now, and as each lepricorn's horn played on, the songs started to distort, the notes going off-key and the lyrics shifting from English to an incomprehensible Eldritch language. Hair now standing on end, Stan looked around, right into the eyes of hundreds, if not thousands of empty, soulless eyes. And as he did, his stomach sank as each pair of eyes rolled backwards into their heads, until only the whites were showing. To his horror, he glanced down at the creature in his arms and noticed that it was in the exact same state. Turning its head up at Stan at an unnatural, disturbing angle, the lepricorn smiled...

And _roared its head off,_ revealing a huge, gaping mouth with rows of teeth that went all the way back down its throat.

Flecks of spit dripping from his glasses, Stan could only say one thing to that: _"....Ohhhhkay."_

"Do you get it now?!" screamed Ford from somewhere behind him.

"Yyyyyeah, I think I get it now!" answered Stan, hastily dropping the lepricorn and backing away. The creature turned its head all the way around like an owl and hissed angrily, racing towards Stan like a bolt of lightning. But just before it pounced on him, a plasma beam went straight through the side of its head, and it fell to the ground dead.

_ **"Stanley, MOVE!"** _

Stan felt himself being tackled from the side as Ford pushed him out of the way of the oncoming horde. After a few seconds, his instincts pushed their way past the shock and fear, and soon he was throwing punch after punch, sending lepricorns flying left and right. Meanwhile, Ford was doing the same, dual wielding two guns and blasting as many creatures as he could. "Nice going, Stanley! You just dug our own graves!"

"Alright, alright, I deserve that!" Dodging a few lepricorns that had launched themselves at his hjead, Stan caught one in his hand and rolled it like a bowling ball towards a crowd of the little monsters, sending them everywhere and leaving them dazed. "Clearly this was not my best decision!"

"Oh, you think?!"

"AAH!" Wincing in pain from a fresh bite to his forearm, Stan snatched up the offending lepricorn and punted it across the meadow. _"Christ!_ These things just keep coming! What do they want with us?!"

"They want to eat us!" snapped Ford, shooting a few lepricorns right between the eyes. "What else?!" Cursing in frustration as his gun jammed, Ford called out to Stan and waved it in the air. A second later, Stan raced across the meadow and gave him some cover, shooting and punching lepricorns while Ford fiddled with a screwdriver. "But you know, maybe if they've had a meal within the last forty-eight hours, they'll just eat our eyes and toes before snapping our necks and throwing our bodies into a bog for later consumption!" he said, fingers working as quickly as he could. "Then when mating season comes, they'll use our skeletons to house their eggs!"

"What the _HELL?!"_ cried Stan. "That's terrifying!"

"YES! It IS, Stanley!" snapped Ford. "That's why I told you to _stay hidden and stay silent!_ What, you think I do that for my health?!"

_ "MAYBE!" _

Suddenly, Stan was thrown off his feet as a lepricorn attacked him from behind, and he struggled to stand as he fought them off with a fallen tree branch. "Anytime now, Poindexter!"

"Almost! _Almost!_ GOT IT!" Beaming at his completed repairs, Ford threw his ray gun up in the air. It changed shape, the metal and gears stretching and molding into a different weapon altogether, and when it landed back in his arms, Ford readied his new plasma cannon in preparation for a strong offensive attack. "Stan! Get behind me! Now!"

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Scrambling to safety, Stan followed suit. As Stan continued to give him cover with his own ray gun, the cannon in Ford's arms whirred and beeped, its sounds growing higher in pitch. "Alright! Brace yourself!" yelled Ford. "This is gonna be - NO!"

Stan snapped his head back at Ford just in time to see Ford fall to the ground, having been knocked over by a particularly large lepricorn. This beast was around the size of a small elephant, and it roared in Ford's face before grinning maliciously down at him and kicking him in the head. As Ford lay there, dazed and woozy, the creature snatched the messenger bag on his shoulder and began to make its way back through the trees.

_"FORD!"_

Stan rushed to his brother's side, but Ford hastily shook him off. "I-I'm fine, I'm fine, where's - ?" His eyes widened in fear as he understood what was going on. "The bag!" he cried.

"Come on!" Stan pulled him to his feet and the two bolted after the thieving lepricorn. The creature in question was already very far away, but Stan shot a tree in a weak spot right at the bottom of its trunk. It came crashing down to block the creature's path, and as the lepricorn backed away in surprise, Ford leapt onto its back with a battle cry and began beating it in the face. _"That! ISN'T! Yours!"_

Snarling in anger, the beast bucked and kicked, shrieking loudly and speaking in tongues as it went. Ford screamed as he clutched the bag to his chest and struggled to hold on, fingers tangled tightly in the creature's rainbow mane. But in the end, the creature threw him off, and he went flying, crashing against a tree trunk and sliding to the ground. Ford snapped his head up just in time to see the creature charging at him, and ducked his head right before it could gore him with its horn. About the same time, he felt something strong pressing up against his chest. As the monster continued to roar and shriek, Ford saw that while the creature had gotten its horn stuck when it gored the tree, it also had pressed him against the tree with its front hooves. They were at an impasse - while the unicorn was stuck and Ford was in no danger of having his head bitten off, the creature had him pinned, with no chance of getting loose. "Stanley!"

"Ford! Ford I'm coming! I'm - !" Breathing unevenly and carrying Ford's plasma cannon, Stan started to run towards his brother, but stopped as the rest of the remaining horde immediately blocked his path. They hissed and howled like demons, roaring with all of the fury of the underworld as the unholy music continued to blast from their horns. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't one of the scariest things he ever saw, but as Stan looked from their shrieking faces to his brother's frightened eyes, Stan's blood began to boil over. "...No."

The creatures all quieted down at the sound of the venom in his voice, blinking in surprise. Stan began to laugh and march towards them, growing angrier by the second. "Do you little shits honestly think I'm gonna let it end like this?!" The crowd began to back away from him slowly as he advanced on them, death in his eyes and war on his breath. "I did NOT walk away from Weirdmageddon just to let myself become lunch for a bunch of inbred Beanie Babies! No! _Screw that!_" He cocked the plasma cannon, and the machinery began to whir into action once more. "You hear me, you little abominations?! I've walked away from zombies, Columbian prison, prehistoric monsters, and a spiderlady who I may or may not have been trying to seduce at the time!"

"What the _feck_ is he going on about?" asked the large lepricorn.

"I'm just as lost as you are," admitted Ford.

The cannon in Stan's arms was glowing now, crackles of blue electricity sparking from its machinery as he hoisted it on his shoulder and directed it at the cowering creatures. "Listen up, you sins against God and Nature! My name is _Stan Pines!_ I've been through Hell and back a thousand times over, and _**I'm not going down without a fight!"**_

And with that, he pulled the trigger.

A beam of pure energy spouted forth from the mouth of the cannon, decimating every last lepricorn in its path. Stan screamed in rage as he swept the beam across the meadow, taking out each creature that attempted to escape. Ford and the large lepricorn looked on in awe, and within moments, there wasn't a single other lepricorn left alive in the whole clearing. Breathing heavily in the midst of singed, smoking grass, Stan panted, shrugging the cannon off of his shoulder. Suddenly remembering the situation at hand, he shot a sideways glare at the last lepricorn, pulled out his ray gun and sent one final shot out through the forest. The lepricorn watched the bolt of light fly towards him - 

And a loud _crack_ rang through the clearing as it went through the lepricorn's horn.

The music now gone, the lepricorn stumbled backwards in confusion, watching Stan march closer and closer, until he was standing right in front of him. Stan bent down, brought his face close, and whispered one, and only one word: _"Run."_

Nodding and gasping in its panic, the creature turned tail and bolted out of the meadow, Stan calling out after it as it went. "That's right! Run back to whatever circle of Hell you crawled out of, you freak! That's how we do it in Jersey! You hear me?! That's what you get for messing with my brother!"

Slow, awed smile creeping onto his face, Ford walked up to his brother from behind. Stan, remembering he was there, turned to face him, looking him up and down. "You okay, Sixer?"

"Yeah," Ford said. "I'm fine."

"What about your head?"

Ford chuckled and knocked on the side of his skull, and a metal clang could be heard through the now peaceful meadow.

Stan snickered and nodded, wiping blood out of the corner of his mouth. "Good to hear."

And with that, he promptly fell backwards onto the grass.

"Stanley!" Ford jogged over to him, hand flying up to his heart in relief as he saw that there was no danger. "Oh, don't do that to me," he sighed wearily.

"Sorry," groaned Stan. "I just...Mmph." He brought his arm over his eyes. "I'm getting too old for this."

Ford raised an eyebrow and crouched down. "Are you, though?"

Stan snorted and shook his head with a grin. "Nope." He winced. "But I might have messed up my back pulling that stunt. How do you carry that cannon around? You can create an inter-dimensional portal, but you can't invent a lighter weapon?"

Ford cracked up into loud laughter and held out a hand to help him up. "I'll see what I can do."

As Stan got back up on his feet, he looked at the messenger bag on Ford's shoulder. "Did it get damaged?"

Ford reached down and open the bag, pulling the contents out as Stan broke off a nearby fungi to use for a light. A large grey seal skin sat in Ford's arms, and Stan watched as his brother carefully ran his fingers over its fur, checking for any sign of harm. "No. It's fine." He turned the skin over, examining a long line of shimmering silver stitches on its underside. "The repairs held up nicely, too. "

"That's a relief," said Stan, turning around. "We'd better hurry up and...wait." He froze, looking at the ground. "Ford?! Do you..do you see what I'm seeing?!

"Wha...oh." Ford turned to follow the direction of Stan's gaze, and as he adjusted his glasses and squinted in the light, he could see dozens upon dozens of shining coins where the lepricorns had once been. "...Ah. Yes. Well." He coughed awkwardly. "Stan, uh, I wouldn't get too excited if I were you - "

_ "WE'RE RICH!" _

Stan bolted towards the coins, kneeling on the ground to get a closer look. "Yes! Another day, another treasure, eh, Sixer?"

"Yyyyyyeah," Ford rubbed the back of his neck. "About that...?"

"Look at all this! We can fund another five years of adventures with all of this! We could...! ...Wait." Stan paused, holding a handful of coins in his hand and weighing them curiously. Frowning as the gears in his head slowly began to turn, he held a coin up to his face and inspected it with the light. "Is this - ?"

"Yep. It's plastic." Ford patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "I tried to warn you."

Scowling in disgust, Stan stood back up and kicked the pile of coins at his feet. "Lepricorns are the worst! The ACTUAL worst!"

"Heh heh. Yeah." Snorting at the way Stan was crossing his arms and pouting, Ford threw his arm around his brother's shoulder and jerked his head towards the trees. "Come on. You hear that?"

Raising an eyebrow, Stan cocked his ear upwards and listened. Through the sounds of the forests all around him, something rumbled in the distance. It took him only a few moments to recognize it as the roar of the ocean. As he looked back down at Ford, he smiled in understanding. Ford smiled pack, tucking the seal skin safely into the messenger bag once more.

"Let's go find Aoife."

\--------------------------------------------

"Aoife! Are you out here? We have something for you!"

Out on the shores of a quiet, secluded cove, Ford watched the waves and waited for an answer. Stan waited off to the side, fiddling with his lantern and looking around. Scattered all over the beach were dozens upon dozens of seals, creeping closer and watching the brothers with curious eyes. A little put off by their unwavering stares, Stan scratched his stomach and hid his face behind his collar, following Ford as his brother walked closer to the edge of the water. The seals in their path scooted back and made room for them, and as he waded into the waves, Ford called out once more. "Aoife! It's us! Ford and Stan!"

The waves crashed on the rocks and the gulls screamed above their heads, but there was no reply.

"Hang on, I got this, Sixer." Running up to the top of a nearby rock, Stan put two fingers in his mouth, took a deep breath and whistled as loudly as he could. The sharp, sudden noise made all of the seals around him jump, the sound bouncing off of the rocky cliffs with surprising success. And successful it was, because about ten seconds later, a familiar face popped out of the ocean waves.

"Hello, Mr Pines! And Mr Pines!" Treading water and shaking her long, dark hair out of her eyes, a young girl only a few years younger than Mabel beamed back at them, swimming through the waves up to them with surprising grace. As soon as he spotted her, Stan waved. "Hey, kiddo. What've you been up to?"

"The usual!" she giggled, trudging through the waves and hopping up on the rock beside him. "It's so good to see you again! I've been waiting for you two since the sun came up! I was starting to worry you wouldn't come."

"Nonsense," said Ford. "We'd never break our promise to a lady!"

Aoife grinned and giggled. "So. How was the journey here?"

The brothers gave each other a sideways glance before beaming at her. "Great! Scenic! Invigorating!" lied Ford.

"Loved it!" lied Stan through gritted teeth. "Absolutely nothing went wrong!"

Aoife silently took in the tears in their clothing and the wounds and bite marks on their skin before giving them a flat stare and raising her eyebrow. "Lepricorns?" she asked. 

"Lepricorns," sighed Ford.

"They're the WORST," grumbled Stan.

"Yes. They are. And when most humans encounter them, they never live to tell the tale." Aoife stepped forward and gave them both a hug. "I'm glad you're both okay."

The brothers hugged her back for a moment before her eyes fell on Ford's messenger bag. "Is that...Were you able to fix it?" she asked, pulling away and bouncing with excitement.

"As a matter of fact, yes" said Ford. Reaching into his messenger bag, he pulled out her skin, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree as he flipped it over to show her the underside where the tiny silver stitches sparkled just beneath the fur. He flipped it over to the front, and it was as if they weren't even there. "One selkie skin, good as new."

As Aoife took her skin back with huge eyes, Ford stood back up with a smile. "I actually can't take all the credit for this one. Stan's the one who mended it - all I did was put a charm on the thread and the needle."

"Really?" asked Aoife, looking up at a flustered Stan. "I didn't know you could sew!"

Burning bright pink, Stan tried to flag his brother down into silence. Ford, however, wasn't getting the message. "I was surprised too, when I first found out!" he said cheerfully, fiddling with his glasses. "And it's a good thing he can, too. If I'm being honest, I'm terrible at sewing. Always have been, never could get the hang of it. But luckily he had his kit on hand to - Ow!"

"Hey, hey, keep it down would ya?!" Stan, beet-red and glancing around at the dozens of black eyes watching him, smacked Ford on the back of his head in embarrassment. "You promised you wouldn't mention that, ya jerk!"

Aoife stifled her laughter as Ford rubbed the sore spot on his noggin. "You don't have to be so dramatic, Stanley." Shaking his head disapprovingly, he turned his attention back to her. "Anyways...go ahead and test it out. Let's see if it works."

"Mm-hmm!" Nodding in agreement, the girl threw her skin over her shoulders and bolted head first into the water. The two brothers smiled in surprise and satisfaction when she resurfaced, not as a girl, but as a chubby little seal. She swam in the waves for a minute or two, dipping in and out of the sea with glee, and shifting in between forms as she went. Finally, she made her way back over to them, human once more and hugging her skin to her chest. "It works! I can't believe it! You fixed it!"

"That's great news, kiddo - Whoa!"

Stan took a few steps back as Aoife launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tight in another hug. "Thank you so much, Mr Pines!" she squealed, jumping up to kiss him on the cheek. "You're my hero!"

"Um, sure kid." Stan chuckled, his ears pink as he patted her on the back. "Glad we could help."

"Luckily for you, it wasn't too big of a tear," said Ford, holding his arms open as Aoife ran to him for a hug. "But if it gets damaged again, you can use this to mend it." Ford pulled a spool of shimmering thread out of his bag and knelt on the sand to present it to her. "Take care of it. It may come in handy later."

She took it gratefully and tucked it away in her skirts before kissing him on the cheek and rushing back to the water. Stan watched her transform back into a seal, laughing to himself at just how much she reminded him of Mabel. "Huh. She sure looks happy, doesn't she?"

"She sure does." Ford threw his arm around his brother, watching Aoife change into a seal again. "We did a good thing, Stanley. Our last mission is finally complete."

"Yeah, yeah," said Stan. "Just watch what you say, okay pal? Don't just bring _that_ up out of nowhere next time, it's embarrassing."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "What, the sewing thing?"

"Yeah. _That."_ Stan crossed his arms and huffed. "It's a good thing no one else was around to hear. The last thing I need is that little secret getting out to anyone else."

"Don't worry, Mr Pines," said a voice from behind Stan. "We won't tell anyone."

_"What the - ?!"_ Whirling around in surprise, Stan jumped and shrieked. The dozens of seals that had circled him before were gone, and in their place were several people with dark eyes and dark hair just like Aoife's, all beaming at him with mischievous smiles. Stan gawked at them for a moment before it clicked. "Wait, were...were you all selkies _this whole time?!"_ He turned to his brother. "Poindexter, why didn't you say anything?!"

"I didn't think I had to?" said Ford with a sheepish shrug. "I mean, I thought it was fairly obvious!"

"Aw, jeez," mumbled Stan, pulling his hands over his red face.

Around him the selkies all burst out into good-natured laughter. One of them, a man covered in scars, walked up to Stan and nudged him playfully. "Cheer up, mate. Your secret's safe with us!"

"Yeah, we really appreciate what you did for my cousin." said a teenage girl in braids. "Not many people would have willingly given back a selkie's skin. I was actually a little worried Aoife gave hers to the wrong person when she told us about you boys."

"Yeah," said a young boy with spiky hair. "It's a good thing you kept your word and gave it back, otherwise we would have hunted you down and sunk your boat while you sle - Ow! _Mu-u-um!"_

A lovely selkie woman with bright eyes bopped him firmly on the head, shooting him a sharp glare and a disapproving frown. "Connor! Don't be rude! These men are _friends."_ Catching sight of the brother's horrified faces, she cleared her throat awkwardly and gave them both a warm smile. "What my son is trying to say is, thank you so much for helping our Aoife. No one in our clan has had their skin torn in centuries. We weren't even sure there was a way to fix it. You boys truly are lifesavers." She tilted her head. "What do we owe you?"

"Wait, like...like wishes? Do we get wishes?!" Stan's eyes shone as he rubbed his hands together.

"Those are _genies."_ she corrected. "You're thinking of genies, love, calm down."

Beside Stan, Ford turned pink and elbowed him in the ribs. "W-we don't need anything!" he stammered, giving his twin a look. "Helping Aoife was a reward in and of itself. Honestly, we're just happy to hel - Ow!"

Shaking her head warmly, Aoife's mother gentlly bopped him on the head as well. "None of that, thank you very much!" Hands on her hips, she gave him a knowing look. "You help us out, we help you out. That's our code."

"Are you boys still searching for those 'multidimensional tear' whatzits?" asked the scarred selkie. "Aoife told us you were keeping a look out for those. Did you want us to help hunt more of them down for you?"

"Actually, we've already finished with all that," admitted Ford. "We don't have anything to do except enjoy our last day here in Ireland."

"Your last day, eh? Hmmm...." Aoife's mother tapped her chin for a moment in thought, then clapped her hands together. "Well, in that case, how's about you boys meet us tonight so we can give you a proper sendoff? We throw good parties, what do you say?"

"Oh! I, um - !" Ford scratched the back of his head shyly, laughing nervously. "A-are you sure, I wouldn't want to force you into - "

"Think nothing of it!" she interrupted, reaching out and patting his hands. "You're our friends, you've helped us, and we'd like to say our goodbyes!"

Still blushing furiously, Ford laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, stammering awkwardly. "W-well - I mean, i-if that's how you really - I - um - !"

Taking mercy on his brother, Stan stepped forward and shook her hand with a smile. "Thanks. We'd like that."

With a smile of her own, she gave the two of them directions to a local pub owned by some of their relatives, one that wasn't too far away from where their boat was docked. After promising to meet them there at six, the brothers watched as the selkie clan began to walk towards the ocean, some of them waving back or patting them on the shoulder as they went. But just as they were wading into the waves, something clicked, and Stan called out after them. "Wait! H-hang on a sec! Before you go..."

The selkies watched as he fished around his own backpack, pulling out a camera and holding it up to them. "Would you mind if we got a photo? For..." He coughed and turned pink. "For my niece's scrapbook?"

\--------------------------------

"You're getting really good at this, Stanley."

"You think so?"

Sitting together on a cliff overlooking the sea, the boys sat and ate a late afternoon lunch together. As Stan brushed some sandwich crumbs off his shirt, Ford continued to look through the photos in the camera. Pausing on an amusing image of Stan punching a kelpie in the face, he took a bite of his sandwich before returning to the most recent photo. In it, Ford sat in the middle of a chorus of seals, with the words 'see you soon' written in the sand. "No, I mean it. These are all great shots," he said. "Do you think you've taken enough pictures for Mabel by now?"

"Well, I'd better!" laughed Stan. "There's no more memory on that thing."

The two chuckled and continued to eat as they looked out at the amazing view. Warm breezes hissed through the grass as flocks of seabirds flew overhead, their cries rivaled only by the roar of ocean waves crashing into the rocks below. Ford stared out at the endless stretch of blue on the horizon, sighing deeply with nostalgia. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. In all the time I've been gone, in every dimension I've been through, I've never found anything that could ever compete with this." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Warm sun, ocean waves...Just like when we were kids, huh, Stan?"

"Uh..." Frozen in mid-chew, Stan glanced sideways at his twin before swallowing his food. "Yep! Yep. Absolutely. Just like..."

Trailing off into silence, Stan looked back out at the ocean and let himself think for a moment. The salty air felt familiar, and so did the sound of the sea. Deep in the furthest corners of his mind, disjointed concepts began to come forward. A wooden fence. A sunset. His brother. Two swings. Stan tried to connect those dots, piecing them together in his head like a puzzle. They felt special. They felt important.

But even though they were all part of something, the memory just wasn't coming back to him. Not yet. Stan sighed and nodded, forcing a smile. "Just like old times," he murmured.

Ford stiffened at the tone in his brother's voice. He glanced at Stan and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, his messenger bag started to vibrate, and a faint blue glow shone through the fabric. "Stan," he said, adjusting his glasses. "I think the twins are calling us."

Leaning over to get a better look, Stan watched as Ford pulled out a small compact mirror, its shell engraved with strange runes. Scooting closer to his brother, Ford tapped it three times with his finger, and the mirror opened up, emitting a bright blue holo-screen. And on that holo-screen, was none other than - "

Greetings, Dipper!" said Ford cheerfully.

"Hey, kid!" said Stan with a wave. "How's it hangin'?"

"Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!" Beaming with excitement, Dipper adjusted the deerstalker hat on his head and scooted closer to the screen. "Hey! How are you guys? How's Ireland been?"

"It's been one heck of a ride," said Stan with a laugh. "Fighting monsters, getting hot babes, finding buttloads of treasure - "

"Oh," snickered Ford, "You mean like those coins we found earlier - ?"

_"Shaddup."_ Stan shoved Ford with a huff and a barely hidden smile. "How's Piedmont, kid? Anything new happen while we were gone?"

"Well, funny you should mention that actually," said Dipper, pulling something out of his vest. "That's kind of the reason - _WHOA!"_

The Stans jumped as Dipper was suddenly shoved out of the frame by a blaze of pink and gold glitter, and suddenly, they were face to face with one absolutely manic little grand niece. "Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!" shouted Mabel, her whole being vibrating with excitement. "OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH_OHMYGOSH!"_

"H-hey there, sweetie," said Stan with a sideways glance at Ford. "Been hitting that Smile Dip again?"

Mabel ignored him, bouncing up and down with stars in her eyes. "Have you heard yet?! Have you heard the news?! Haveyouhaveyouhaveyou?!"

"Mabel, calm down," said Ford gently. "What are you so excited about?"

"You...GASP!" Her eyes grew big in revelation as she pressed her hands to her cheeks."You really haven't heard yet, have you?!"

"Uh...about _what,_ pumpkin?"

But Stan's question was ignored as Mabel gasped and pulled a very dazed Dipper off of the ground, shaking him frantically by the shoulders. "Dipper, Dipper, wake up, come on, I don't think they know!"

"Know what?" interrupted Ford, his instincts starting to take over. "Is something wrong? Did something bad happen?!" He pulled out his ray gun, suddenly all business, and a few of the nearby wildlife ran away in fear as he began to shout. _"Do you need us to come to California?!"_

"No no no, that's okay, Grunkle Ford!" said a very woozy Dipper, swaying as he regained his balance. Shaking his head and adjusting his hat, he gave them a reassuring smile. "Nothing's wrong, but something big just came in the mail about an hour ago - "

Mabel shrieked at the top of her lungs and pulled her hair in excitement, causing Dipper to pause and cringe.

" - And Mabel INSISTED we contacted you as soon as we had some time to summon a communication portal." Dipper shook his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears as he held up an ornate piece of cardstock. "We would have called you sooner, but we had to wait until Mom and Dad left to get groceries." He shrugged and smiled awkwardly. "Pretty sure they wouldn't want me messing with summoning magic, you know?"

"Fair enough," said Stan with a shrug. "So, what you got there, kiddo? Looks like an invite."

"Waitwaitwait, hang on!"

Mabel popped her head back into frame with a grin. "I need to see your reaction! No! Even better!" She held up a camera. "I MUST capture it!"

"Mabel!" groaned Dipper. "Come on! You're taking some of the fun out of this!"

"I have to, Dipper!" she whined. "I never miss a scrapbook-ortunity! Let me document this moment for my art! Please?"

She batted her eyelashes at her brother hopefully, and after a moment, he finally relented. "Fine, just don't get me in the shot."

"Woof," commented Stan, glancing at his brother's confused shrug. "Whatever's got you so hyped up must be something pretty big."

Nearly forgetting to hold the camera steady, Mabel was almost exploding from anticipation. "Eeeeeeeeee~" she squeaked, bouncing on her heels. Beside her, Dipper held the card up to the screen as best as he could, and Ford leaned closer, fiddling with his glasses as he inspected it. Behind him, Stan looked over his shoulder, eyeing the comic-book-like art and lettering. "'Save The Date,'" Ford read, and he waited a moment for Dipper to flip it open. "'This summer, get ready for the wedding of a lifetime between Melody Bell and...Jesús Alzamirano Ramirez?'" His eyes widened. "Wait, does that mean - ?"

_"Soos is getting **married?!"**_ cried Stan, pushing poor Ford down and out of frame.

"YES!" screamed Mabel, snapping as many shots as she could in rapid-fire succession. "Can you believe it?! It's finally happening!" Screaming with delight, she launched herself on her bed and began to roll around. "I'm so excited I could DIE! Soos, America's Number One Sweetheart, is gonna marry Melody - _America's OTHER Number One Sweetheart!"_ Squealing with happiness, she threw her arms around Waddles, who had been snoozing under the pillows. "Isn't that great?! They're getting their happily ever after!"

"Mabel, that's wonderful!" said Ford, scrambling out from underneath his brother. "We'll have to celebrate with him when we get back to Gravity Falls this summer!"

"Way ahead of you, Grunkle Ford!" said Dipper with a thumbs up. "I called Soos a little while ago when we got the invite. Since we're coming back to Oregon this year, he actually wants me to help plan out the bachelor party! So...heh..." He moved to the side, revealing a wall absolutely plastered with post-it notes and a spiderweb of red string. "I've already got the ball rolling on that."

"Yeah, he's been brainstorming for like an hour now!" chirped Mabel as she pulled something out from under her bed. "And he's not alone!"

Both Dipper and Ford watched as she grunted and sweated with effort, tugging and pulling until she finally pried a massive, shimmery binder out from its tomb beneath her sleepspace. "Ta-daaaaah!" she sang with a flourish, dropping it with a loud _WHUMP._ "For years - Literal! Years! - I've been collecting and compiling all of the necessary items and references needed to plan the world's most perfect wedding!" She threw her arms around the monstrous book, which was quite a challenge because it was even bigger than her. "I was gonna save all of this for MY future wedding, but this is an emergency! My hard work is needed NOW! Waddles, help me out here!"

Mabel and Waddles pushed the binder closer to the communication portal. When she was near enough for her Grunkles to be able to read the lettering, she knelt down beside it and began to breeze through the pages. "As you can see, from this handy-dandy encyclopedia, we have everything we could ever possibly need for the ceremony, the reception, and so on and so forth!" She flipped through chapter after chapter, taking care to keep herself out of the way. "We've got recipes, floral arrangement ideas, numbers and contact info for bands and wedding DJs, tutorials on how to make napkin swans, email addresses for the West Coast's best pyro-technicians - "

"Uh, Mabel," asked Dipper, glancing at Ford nervously, "I don't mean to burst your bubble, but isn't that all up to the wedding planner?" 

"Well, yeah, but come on, Dipper! They'll be SO busy trying to handle everything at once! Don't you think they'd like an extra hand or two? Every professional worth their salt knows how to delegate the right job to the right person." Brushing the extra glitter off of her skirt, she sat atop her wedding binder like a proud little queen with a smile. "I'm sure they won't mind if I help them out and make a few, teensy, insignificant suggestions here and there. After all - " She flipped her hair and shot them both a wink and finger gun. "You can't spell 'good times' without M-a-b-e-l!"

Dipper shook his head. "T-that doesn't really make any se - "

"First law of the universe, Dips: The party don't start 'till I walk in." She booped him on the nose. "Fact. That's fact. That's _science,_ Dipper." 

"Mabel," chuckled Ford, "I can tell you with absolute certainty that, unfortunately, that is not science."

"Well, maybe it should be!"

Dipper, Mabel and Ford continued to chat on, laughing and arguing and debating on whether or not Mabel had to define herself by the natural laws of reality. But as they did, Stan remained off to the side, their words only white noise to him. The news he had just heard rocked him to his core, and he sat there in silence, utterly shellshocked. He would have sat there in silence for much longer, if the phone in his pocket hadn't started to ring.

Perking up, Stan grabbed his cellphone and did a double take when he he saw who it was on the phone screen. Pulling himself back into reality, he interrupted the others by holding up a hand. "Hang on, kids, I think I gotta take this." Putting the phone on speaker, he held it up so everyone could hear. "Soos! How's it going, buddy?"

"Hey, Mr. Pines!" came Soos's slightly tinny voice. "How's Ireland been? Still fighting monsters?"

"Fighting monsters, getting babes, all that jazz, yadda yadda. But that's not important right now." Stan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in curiosity. "What's this I hear about you tying the knot with Melody?"

"What the - ?! How'd _you_ know I was gonna talk to you about that?! Did..." He gasped loudly, his voice dropping dramatically. "Did you acquire psychic powers during your journey into the unknown?!"

Ford raised an amused eyebrow and Dipper and Mabel stifled their giggles. Stan rolled his eyes, but even he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "We've been over this before, Soos. - psychics aren't real." he chided gently. "Trust me on this one. I know from experience."

"Oh. Phew!" Soos laughed. "That's a relief. But then, how DID you find out? Did your invite get to you that fast?"

"We're on a video call with Dipper and Mabel right now," Stan explained. "The kids just filled us in on the news. You're on speaker!"

"Congratulations!" said Ford cheerfully.

"WAY TO GO, SOOS!" shouted Dipper. Beside him, Mabel whooped and blasted an airhorn.

"Awww!" Soos's blush was almost audible as he laughed. "Thanks, you guys! I'm glad you're as hyped for this summer as I am! I can't wait! I mean, to tell you the truth, I'm real nervous. But like, in a good way, you know? Like...hmm." He paused for a moment. "Like when you're on a roller coaster and you're on that one hill, and you're about to go down and you feel like you're gonna throw up, but once you start moving it's like the greatest moment of your life and you're never gonna be the same person because of that?" He paused again. "You know what I mean? It's like that!"

"You are the poet of a generation," said Mabel sagely.

"Haha! Yeah. I do what I can, Hambone." Over the speaker, Soos suddenly cleared his throat nervously. "Hey, um, Mr. Pines. Is is okay if...Can I talk to you about something? Privately, I mean." Soos laughed lightly, but everyone could hear the anxiety in his voice. "It's kind of important."

"Oh, uh, okay? Sure thing." Stan saluted to the other three as he got up to leave. Dipper waved goodbye and Mabel blew him a kiss, and with that, he made his way over to a quieter spot in the field and took the phone off speaker. "Okay, Soos. We're alone. Talk to me."

"Uh...right! Right. Okay. So..." Soos cleared his throat nervously. "I'm, uh. I'm getting married."

Stan nodded. "Yeah. Uh..." He shrugged, more out of instinct than anything. "Mazel Tov."

"T-thanks! Uh, s-so yeah. I'm getting married, and marriage is a big deal." Stan could hear him shuffling around anxiously on the other side of the line. "It's like, a milestone or something. Life is really different afterwards. And the wedding - I mean - it's like, the most important day of your life."

"I know. I've been married twice." Stan raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going with this, Soos?"

"W-well, the thing is..." Soos's voice was shaky now. "Weddings are a day when...when _families_ get together and...and...h-hang on a sec."

Stan listened to Soos pull away from the phone and catch his breath. "I can't do this," he told someone. "M-maybe I should end the call. I-I think I'm messing this up real bad."

"No, you're not." said a gentle voice. "You're doing just fine. You got this, Soos. I believe in you."

Something in the other person's voice was oddly familiar. After a beat or two, Stan realized why. "Is that...Melody?"

"O-Oh!" Soos came back on the line, laughing anxiously. "Whoops! Y-yeah, that was her. B-but don't worry, she can't hear you. I just...I-I-I kind of wanted her here for emotional support. This is kind of hard for me to do on my own."

"Whoa," said Stan, eyebrows flying up. "This must be really serious."

Inwardly, Stan frowned, suddenly very on edge. Soos was NEVER serious. Ever.

"It's nothing bad!" said Soos. "Don't worry, but...but it is important! Uh, so anyways, weddings are when families get together and support each other, and the thing about that is...sometimes, certain people do certain things because they're the right person for it and...uh..." He paused. "H-hang on, I got my flashcards mixed up! Of all the days to forget my lines - !"

"Soos! Buddy!" Stan interrupted. "We've known each other for years! Whatever you have to say, you can say it to me, now just spit it out!"

_"MrPineswillyoubemyBestMan?!"_

Stan froze. "W...What did you say?"

"Okay." Soos took a deep breath in and out before he spoke again. "Mr. Pines...I've known you for a long, long time. Ever since I was a kid. And ever since then, I've always...looked up to you. Actually, I still look up to you. You just...you really mean a lot to me. You're like...I don't know if I've ever said this out loud to your face, but, honestly, Stan?" His voice was small. "You're pretty much the Dad I never had."

Stan swayed a little on his feet, leaning on a nearby fence to keep himself from falling over. Oblivious to the impact his words were having on Stan, Soos pushed on. "I mean, ever since you gave me the job at the Mystery Shack, you taught me everything. How to run a business. How to fix a broken transmission. How to escape from the back of a police car. All the important things, you know? And if I didn't have you there while I was growing up, if I never met you, I mean, who knows where I'd be right now?" Soos chuckled for a moment before growing serious once more. " Mr P - _Stan._ You're one of the most influential people in my life. You're really, really important to me, and I was hoping, if you're not gonna be too busy this summer....will you be my Best Man?"

Stan was silent for a moment, and on the other side of the line, he could hear Soos shift and move around anxiously as he waited for an answer. Finally, a small, amazed smile grew on Stan's face as he spoke. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'll...I'd be _honored,_ Soos."

"Really?!" Soos laughed in relief, and even over the phone, Stan could hear the tears just behind his voice. "That's great!"

A few minutes passed as the two of them talked about some specifics for the wedding, but Stan was only half paying attention. His head felt pleasantly light, and when he finally wished Soos and Melody farewell, he hung up the phone and looked up to the sky with a fresh sense of hope in the future.

"Stan? Is everything alright?"

Stan turned around and saw Ford making his way towards him, the communication portal nowhere to be seen. "What happened?" he asked. "What did Soos want to talk to you about?"

"He - " Stan opened his mouth to speak, but he was still too overcome with emotion to explain. "I'll tell you later." Sighing contentedly, he turned around and looked out at the sea. "Ford, what do you say we start heading back and get ready for the party tonight? I mean, we should probably look our best if other people are throwing it for us."

"Sure, Stanley. We can do that."

As they started heading back, Stan glanced down at the lantern he'd been carrying around all day, deep in thought. "Sixer," he said quietly, "I think...this has been the greatest day of my life."

Ford laughed. "Stanley, ever since we left Oregon, you've been saying that line _every day._"

"Well, yeah!" Stan replied. "That's because every day, I mean it!" He smiled, slugging his brother in the shoulder. "Ford, being with you, traveling around, going on adventures together - it's been everything I ever dreamed of. And this summer? It's gonna be the best one yet!" Childish grin plastered on his face, he began to count off of his fingers. "When we get back home, we're gonna go fishing, watch movies, launch fireworks, have parties, prank the Gleefuls, celebrate Summerween, play that nerd game you like so much - "

"Wha - ?! Hold on!" Ford stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow. "You actually _want_ to play Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons?!"

"Sure! Why not?"

There was a brief moment of pause before Ford placed a hand on Stan's forehead and shone a flashlight in his eyes. "Stanley, are you sure you didn't hit YOUR head earlier?!"

"Ha-ha! Very funny!" Rolling his eyes, Stan threw his arm over his brother's shoulder and grinned. "Look, I'm serious! We'll do everything there is to do and see everything there is to see, both pairs of Pines twins having a blast all summer long! With all of us together, every single day is going to be an adventure!"

Stan stood back and raised his hand expectantly. "Are you with me, Sixer?" he asked, beaming.

Ford stared at him for a moment, before finally cracking a smile and returning the high six. "I'm with you, Stan. To the ends of the earth and back." He pulled his brother into a hug. ""No matter where we go, no matter what we go through, I'll always have your back. That's a promise."

Stan hugged him back, looking up at a passing bird. "This summer's gonna be perfect," he murmured. "And I can't wait."

\----------------------------------

Somewhere in the distance, a train horn echoed through the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's Sunbird. and this here's my newest story. for those of you who got to this story earlier than most, you may notice i made a few major changes to chapters 1 and 2, namely to a certain character in chapter 1 and deleting a part of the original chapter 2's ending. i know it's annoying, but i decided to go back and make those edits to make the ensuing story stronger. i will do my best to not retcon anything moving forward, but i figured that since i want to write this, i will go and do it right.
> 
> thanks for your patience, and as always, thank you for reading.


	3. Ends of the Earth (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you remember that day in October?
> 
> The leaves were falling just like me when it was over
> 
> One more day of sorrow and I'll struggle to stay sober
> 
> Hope to see you later when I get older
> 
> I still remember the smell of your perfume
> 
> It hasn't left me since the day you made me blue
> 
> I think I saw you but I know I'm not supposed to
> 
> I must be dreaming 'cause I don't believe in ghosts, yeah..."
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------
> 
> "Ghosts," by Jacob Tillberg
> 
> \----------------------------------

"This the place?"

"Uh..." Squinting down and scanning the map in his hands, Ford looked up and nodded. "I believe so."

Eyebrows flying up in surprise, Stan turned back to the building sitting before them under the moonlight. It was lopsided and rotting, with a caved in roof and cracked window-panes. Stan's nose wrinkled as he eyed the faded wooden sign and moss-covered bricks, watching as a few insects skittered out of a small crevice and flew off into the night. With the full moon shining above and the chill air creating a fog all around them, the 'pub' sitting before them was pathetic at best and ominous at worst. "Looks...abandoned," he commented warily, pulling his collar up over his face. "You sure this is it?"

Ford nodded, shivering a little as he rolled up the map and rubbed his gloved hands together. "If there's one thing I've learned through my travels," he said as he stepped forward, "It's that when it comes to the supernatural, looks are _always_ deceiving."

Moving aside and letting his brother pass, Stan watched as Ford stepped up to the lopsided door and knocked twelve times, slowly and deliberately. The final knock seemed to echo and resonate through the night with a strange power Stan could not see - but one he could certainly feel. He heard it too, in the way the creatures in the woods went silent and the wind seemed to stop blowing, if only for just a moment.

When Ford stepped back, he smiled in satisfaction as the broken, cobweb-covered street lamps around the tavern began to glow. To Stan's surprise, the windows of the rotting old building followed suit, and as they lit up with a warm, friendly light, he could hear people and music from within. Suddenly, the door swung open, and the scarred selkie man they met before beamed at them. "There you are!" he laughed. "Was wondering if the two of you would be able to find your way. Come in, come in, get out of the cold, we've been expecting you!"

He held the door open for them, and the two brothers thanked him and walked inside. The interior of the building was MUCH bigger than they expected it to be, large and cavernous, warm and friendly - and absolutely full to bursting with other people, none of which were human. As the brothers looked around in awe, they could recognize some of the selkies they had met on the beach, dark-haired people who wore their skins over their shoulders like shawls. But there were also others there, beings that were impossibly thin, tall and beautiful, little balls of blue fire that danced through the air, ghostly warriors with warpaint and furs who passed through the others like a mist. There were little men that only came up to Stan's knees with fine suits and finer shoes, knights that carried their heads tucked under their arms while fire and smoke spewed forth from their necks, and shadowy creatures that shape-shifted into different animals as they made their way through the crowds.

A little intimidated by the sheer number of supernatural beings that surrounded them, Stan found himself stepping away from the crowd, scratching his neck nervously as he glanced around. Ford, on the other hand was completely entranced, adjusting his glasses excitedly as he took everything in. Seeing him at ease was enough to relax Stan a little, and he turned to the scarred selkie with a nervous chuckle. "So, uh...this is your _entire_ family?"

"Ehhhh, not quite," the selkie answered sheepishly. "Our clan's all here, but the rest are our neighbors. They, uh, got wind of our plans for the evening and brought it upon themselves to help with and participate in the festivities." His smile faltered at the look on Stan's face, and he ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. "Ahhh, yeah, thought you wouldn't like that. Let the record state that this was not my original plan! I took absolutely no part in these decisions! In fact, I was the only one here who tried to keep things a little more...hmmm...." He turned to a selkie woman walking out of the crowd with a plate of food. "Siobhan! Love, what's the word I'm looking for?"

She paused for a moment in thought. "Reasonable?" she offered.

"That's the one!" said the selkie man with a smile. He turned back to Stan. "I tried to keep the guest list a little more _reasonable._ But we're Irish. And we're fairies. So, parties are _always_ quite an affair." He chuckled apologetically. "Traditions, am I right? But it's your night. You, uh..." he coughed awkwardly. "You want me to go say something?"

Stan glanced over at the excited look on Ford's face, thought for a moment and shook his head with a grin. "What, are you kidding me?!" Stan stepped forward and threw his arm around Ford. "This night just got a whole lot better! I mean, come on! How many people could say they partied with fairies?! Hey!" He pointed a thumb over to a nearby leprechaun and winked at Siobhan. "Think I can win some gold off of Pipsqueak over there?!"

Siobhan placed the food on a nearby table and tapped her chin for a moment. "I may be able to persuade him into a few games of cards..._if_ you give me a cut." She smirked at him, a glint in her eye. "50/50?"

Stan chuckled approvingly. "You're a riot, sister." His gaze grew serious. "70/30."

"60/40."

"55/45?"

"Deal."

The two shook hands, and the scarred selkie took the opportunity to come up from behind and guide the men by the shoulders towards the middle of the room. "Alright, boys, the time has come to address your people."

Ford and Stan glanced nervously at each other as the crowds of laughing, cheering, singing fairies began to turn their eyes over to them. "All right, settle down, lads, settle down!" said the scarred selkie, hopping onto a table. "Thank you, one and all for being here with us tonight! We've all gathered here - uninvited or not - " He gave a stern look to the crowd, who snickered in turn. " - For one very special reason: to honor those who have honored our own! I give you the men who helped my daughter in her time of need - Stan and Ford Pines!"

The entire company burst into a cheer so loud, it shook the building and made Stan and Ford's ears ring.  _ **"Pines!"** _

"These two paid us with their kindness, and tonight, we return the favor!"

The crowd cheered again, and the scarred selkie grabbed two shots of whiskey from the table behind him and presented them to Stan and Ford with a proud smile before taking one for his own. "To our friendship," he said, raising his shot glass high, "And to all your future adventures! Drink up, mates! _Slainte!"_

The three clinked their glasses together and drank, and on the other side of the pub, the band on the stage begin to play. Wiping the whiskey off his top lip, the scarred selkie beamed at them and stood back. "Welcome to the best night of your life, boys! Come on! Let's get you two a proper pint of beer!"

"Now you're speaking my language!" laughed Stan, following him. "Sixer, you coming?"

"Oh, uh, no thank you," said Ford, tugging at his collar. "I actually won't be drinking anymore tonight."

There was a brief pause of complete and total stillness as everyone in the pub fell silent at his words. Then, all the fairies shouted together in unison. _"WHAT?!"_

"Ford, why not?!" cried Stan.

"Well," mumbled Ford, turning pink and looking around nervously. "I figured since I'll be steering the ship first tomorrow, I should stay sober. Can't really sail with a hangover. And, uh...between you and me, Stan..." He crept a little closer to his brother and lowered his voice. "I can get a little..._problematic_ when I drink too much."

_"Problemati - ?"_ Stan scoffed and threw his arms up in disappointment. "Ford, _seriously?!"_

"It's okay, Stanley," soothed Ford. "You have fun for the both of us tonight, I don't mind, I swear I don't mind - !"

"Mate, we brought you to the pub for a reason!" said one of the selkies in the crowd.

"It's your night!" said a nearby leprechaun. "You should enjoy it!"

"Aw, come on, Sixer!" whined Stan, shaking him by the shoulders. "Drink with me! It's a special occassion! For luck? For me?"

Ford stared at him with a raised eyebrow, and Stan held up his index finger with a grin. "One drink. Just one."

Ford bit his lip nervously, and during his hesitation, the scarred selkie started to chant. "One drink, one drink, one drink, one drink!" He motioned for the others to join in, and it didn't take long until the entire company was chanting altogether. Ford glanced around at the crowds of fairies cheering him on, and after a beat or two of silence, he finally gave up. "All right," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Maybe just one."

"Yeah-heah-heah! Whoo!" As Stan pumped his fist in the air, two selkie women led him to the beer, and every fairy in the pub whistled, cheered, and began to chant something else altogether. "Pines, Pines, Pines, Pines - !"

"But just _one drink!"_ Ford called after his brother over the noise of the crowd. "One drink, Stanley, and that's it!"

\---------------------------------------------

Two hours and several pints of beer later, Stan watched as a tipsy Ford slid onto the stage to join the pub's band. "Sean!" he boomed, his glasses askew on his face. "Give me the 80s-ist, crowd pleasing-ist, rock ballad-y-ist song you got!"

Sean the drummer gave him a thumbs up, and as he set the beat, the band followed suit.

"Excellent!" shouted Ford, and as the music kicked into full swing, he grabbed the microphone and began to sing his heart out:

_"Don't start un-believing,_

_Never don't not feel your feelings!"_

Every fairy in the pub clapped and cheered as he sang. Meanwhile, Stan stood in the corner with a beer in his hand and a look of quiet horror on his face. "Welp," he said to himself, "This was a mistake."

"Stan, mate!" Morgan, the scarred selkie who had welcomed them into the pub, stepped forward and slugged him in the shoulder with a laugh. "Your brother's an absolute legend!"

Stan stared at him flatly for a beat, then looked back up at the stage where Ford was slurring something into the microphone again. "I'm gonna do a flip!" he shouted, and he leapt into the air and promptly fell flat on his face before rolling over and pointing to the cheering crowd. "That was for _you_ guys!"

Around them, the throng of fairies chanted "Pines, Pines, Pines" over and over again. Stan, however, could only shake his head. "Legend, huh?" He looked back at Morgan. "You sure you don't mean 'cautionary tale?"

"Ah, don't be like that, he's just having a good time. He's not doing anyone any harm!"

"Are you kidding me?! He's harming the family name! I can't even deny my relation to him because I'm his freakin' _twin!_ Is he...is he doing The Worm?! Oh my God," Stan groaned, turning red with embarrassment. _"Oh my God,_ that knucklehead's gonna give me a heart attack!""

Morgan snorted and shook his head before he dutifully moved through the crowd to help Ford off the stage. "Lovely performance, mate," he said, guiding him down the steps with a laugh. "A real tour de force, you are."

"Thanks again for throwing this celebration for us," answered Ford. After quite a few drinks, his New Jersey accent was now heavier and more apparent than before, and though they weren't exactly the same, his voice was now eerily similar to Stan's. "It's been absolutely fantastic! One of the best nights of my life, hands down! I really appreciate everything you've done, buddy!"

"Anytime," said Morgan, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"You alright, Sixer?" Stan held Ford by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "You hit the ground kind of hard up there."

"I'm okay, Stan! Better than okay, even! I'm GREAT!" Ford giggled and hiccuped. "This whole thing has been so much fun! Hey, how come we don't do this more often?!"

"I can think of a few good reasons," grumbled Stan.

"To Stanford Pines!" said someone in the crowd, raising their glass high. _"Slainte!"_

"To Ireland!" said Ford, raising his own glass and stumbling over to them. _"Erin go Bragh!"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Get back here!" Grabbing Ford by the scruff of his shirt, Stan began to pull him towards a small booth by the bar, tucked in a corner and out of the way of all the chaos. "That's it, Mister! I'm putting you in time-out!"

"What?!" Ford struggled and squirmed as Stan dragged him through the crowd. "Stanley, I'm sixty..." He counted off his fingers for a moment before giving up. "I'm sixty-something years old! I don't need a babysitter!"

"Says you!"

"Come on, Ford," encouraged Morgan, helping the tipsy twin walk. "Up we go, there's a good lad."

As Morgan sat him down in the booth, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and scoffed, his face red. "I don't believe this! Of all the terrible, awful, no-good stunts you could ever pull, you turn around and make ME have to be the _responsible_ twin!" Groaning dramatically, he grabbed the object Morgan was handing to him and passed the glass of water to Ford. "Here. Hydrate, you idiot. Balance out some of that booze in your system."

Ford rolled his eyes. "That's not how it works, Stanley."

"I don't need a lecture, Poindexter, I just need you to drink."

Ford scowled but gave him a reluctant thanks and took a few sips of water, sitting back against the soft cushions of the booth as Stan and Morgan sat next to him, talking for a bit. But after a few minutes, a group of fairies came up to the table. A pooka, now shaped like a dog, stepped forward and wagged her tail at Stan excitedly. "Hey, Pines!" she barked. "Word on the street is you're a gambling man! We're gonna go play some cards! What say you join us?"

"Yeah," said a ghostly warrior, stroking his beard. "I've never played with a human before. Should be fun for everyone."

"I'd like to go," said Morgan. He turned to Stan excitedly. "How about it? Didn't you say you were hoping for this earlier?"

"Uh...Yeah, I did, but..." A little embarrassed at being put on the spot, Stan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and glanced at Ford. His brother was swaying a little in his seat, giggling as a will o'the wisp danced around his head and awkwardly trying to grab it. "I don't know...." said Stan. "Maybe I shouldn't..."

Understanding the situation, Morgan reached out and patted him on the back. "Don't worry, Stan! He's a grown man, he'll be fine."

Stan's mouth stretched out into a thin line. "You say that, but the second I take my eyes off of him, he's gonna find trouble. That is, if trouble don't find him first."

"Hmm...good point." Looking around, the selkie caught sight of someone standing behind the bar and called out to him. "Oi! You! Can you keep an eye on our friend here while we go play for a bit?"

"Sure," said the man, keeping his back turned as he mixed drinks. "I don't see why not."

"See, Stan, it's fine!" Morgan nudged him in the ribs with a smile. "Your brother'll have someone looking out for him!"

"Ehhh...Well...." Stan eyed the jewelry and shiny treasures some of the others were wearing, fingers twitching eagerly, then turned back to Ford with a sigh. "How about it, Sixer? Think you can handle yourself while I'm gone? "

"Stanley, I assure you," slurred Ford. "I'll be perfectly fine on my own." He nudged his brother. "Now go have fun."

"Are you _sure?"_ Stan crossed his arms with a frown. "Because the last thing I need is you wandering off somewhere and getting hitched to some hagraven."

From the next table over, two withered old women with feathers and beaks put down their menus in a panic. "He's onto us, Moira!" said one as she began to hobble away. "Abort, my sister, ABORT!"

"That's right, get outta here, you vultures!" said Stan, jumping out of his seat and shaking his fist at them as they retreated. "You've got some nerve trying to make an honest man out of my brother! How dare you?!"

_"Stanley!"_ Doing his best not to lose his balance, Ford stood up and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's your night! Go have fun! I'll be _fine._ I SWEAR. Actually," he admitted with a shrug, "It'd be nice to have some 'Me Time' for a while. I think you were right. Maybe I do need a break from partying for a bit."

Stan stared at him, and Ford's face softened a little as he chuckled and pushed Stan closer to the gang of fairies. "Come on. Don't worry about me. Just go enjoy yourself."

Stan stared at his twin for a beat, then sighed and nodded. "...Alright. Fine. I can take a hint. I know when I'm not wanted."

Ford snorted and wordlessly held up his hand. Stan rolled his eyes, but even he couldn't hide the smile as he gave his twin a high six. And with that, Stan set his empty glass down on the counter, saluted Ford, and disappeared into the crowd with Morgan and the fairies. Watching them leave, Ford sat back and drank his water thoughtfully in silence for a moment.

"...He really loves you."

Alarmed by the unexpected voice, Ford jumped and turned to the bartender, who was still busying himself with mixing drinks and cleaning glases. "Hah," Ford laughed as his ears turned red self-consciously. "Yes, I suppose he does," he agreed.

"That's good," said the bartender, still keeping his back to Ford. "Brothers should always look out for one another. Protecting you, making sure you're safe, making sure you're not alone..." He paused. "You're a lucky man, you know. Not everyone can get along with their sibling the way you get along with yours."

Ford's smile faded at the sound of those words, and he paused to reflect in silence for a while. Then he sighed deeply, looking down at his reflection on the table. The bartender turned his head to Ford, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"We..." Ford sagged in shame as he looked his reflection in the eyes. "Well...things between us are better now, but if I'm being honest, I haven't always been the best sibling. At all. In fact..." His eyes narrowed. "I've been a terrible brother for most of my life."

"Is that so?"

Ford nodded, sinking his head down on the table. "I've been...selfish. And stupid. And _stubborn._ Too stubborn to let bygones be bygones, or to realize just how much Stanley has always been there." Turning his head to the side, Ford watched a drop of water slide down the glass as he continued. "My stupid pride kept me from seeing the truth for years. I put myself and my grudges over my own flesh and blood. I put my goals above everything and everyone else. And it almost cost us all we had. Our family. Our friends. Our home. Our lives. Even my brother's..." He faltered, his throat now tight as an unpleasant memory of a kneeling man flashed across his vision. "...Even my brother's mind," he choked out at last.

The bartender paused his actions for a moment, watching Ford bite his lip and swallow in shame. A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, and he ran a hand over his face before he continued. "About a year ago...my brother lost his memory," he confessed. "And he's made a remarkable recovery since then. But at the end of the day, he still has..._problems._ Sometimes, it takes him a while to recall certain people, or certain places. Sometimes he'll remember something like it was yesterday, and he'll get even the smallest of details right if you ask him to describe it. Other times, it's just...not there." Ford ran a hand through his hair, clutching at his head. "It's been almost a year now, but there are still big holes in his memory, and I don't even know how big some of them are because _he doesn't talk to me about it._ And I know it isn't because he doesn't trust me. He keeps quiet because...because he wants to spare my feelings. He doesn't want me to blame myself." Ford drooped over the table, wiping away another tear as his emotions started to overwhelm him. "Even now, after all this time, all I've done...he thinks about me before he thinks about himself."

Ford sat back up, looking at the bartender. "You say I'm lucky...and it's true. I'm the luckiest person alive to have Stan for a twin. But I don't deserve him." He closed his eyes and bonked his forehead on the table with a sigh. "I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to be there for him now, after so many years of turning my back on his suffering. But the truth is, Stanley's a better person than someone like me could ever hope to be worthy of. No matter what I do, I'll never be good enough to call myself his brother. I'm not good enough." He paused. "I never was."

There was a moment or two of silence between the two men as Ford lay there on the table while the bartender stared at him thoughtfully. Then at last, he spoke. "Hmm." Turning back to his task, the bartender shook his head. "I don't think that's true."

Ford looked back up. "How do you know?"

"Because if it were, then you wouldn't be trying to change it. In fact, you wouldn't even admit that you _needed_ to change, to me, or to yourself." The bartender opened a bottle and started pouring something into some glasses. "I'm an old, old man," he continued. "And if there's one thing I've learned in all the years I have walked the earth, it's that nobody is perfect. Everyone has flaws. Everyone makes mistakes. But what counts is whether or not we accept our shortcomings and, more importantly, take responsibility for them. What matters most is whether or not we allow ourselves to learn how to be better people. That's what separates the men from the monsters. Men learn. Monsters don't."

He turned to face Ford at last, and for the first time, Ford saw that the man wore an eyepatch over his right eye. The man scratched his thick silver beard thoughtfully and gave him a smile. "You're not perfect, Stanford Pines. You made mistakes, and you're still learning how to move on from them. But you're learning nonetheless." He winked, and for some strange reason, the gesture made the sorrow in Ford's heart evaporate. "Have faith, son. You'll get there."

Suddenly he slid something across the surface of the table, and Ford watched as it came to a stop right in front of him. "Here. For you. Maybe this will brighten your night." The man raised his own glass to Ford and took a drink, his lone blue eye twinkling in the light. _"Skål."_

"Uh..." Ford looked down at the whiskey in front of him and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I...." He motioned towards the glass with a frown. "I didn't order this."

The bartender chuckled heartily. "I'm aware of that! But it's for you, alright. It's a little something from the lady in black." He raised his eyebrow, amused at the surprised look on Ford's face. "I was going to give you bottom shelf, but she _insisted_ I get you top." He chuckled knowingly. "Lucky you." 

"Lady in...what?" Ford paused, glancing down at the drink in front of him before hastily turning to the crowd around him. "Wait, _who?!"_

"Boo."

Jolting in surprise, Ford whirled around...and promptly felt his jaw drop.

Seated right across from him was an absolutely _beautiful_ blonde. The longer he stared at her, the harder it was to discern her age - her face was fresh and youthful, but there were streaks of white at her temples, and a telltale maturity to her posture and body language. She was dressed all in black, from the long gloves on her arms to the heels on her feet. In fact, the only spot of color on her was her bright red lips. As he gaped at her in shock, she tipped the brim of her hat up with a finger and revealed a pair of striking green eyes, pale as sea-glass. Amused by his reaction, she winked at him with a fond smile that made his stomach flip. "Hey there, sailor."

Ford's face burned pink, and next to him, the bartender patted him on the shoulder and gave him a knowing look. "I'll give you two some space," he said, grabbing Stan's glass and walking back to the bar.

The lady waved politely as he left, setting the umbrella in her lap aside. Turning her attention back to Ford, she leaned her chin on her hand and blatantly looked him up and down, slowly dragging her eyes up his body in a way that made him blush harder. "So," she teased. "Come here often?"

Ford just swallowed and gave her a shy, dorky grin.

\---------------------------------------------

"And that's the game!"

Squeezed in between a dullahan and a pooka, Stan presented his hand with a flourish. "Four of a kind," he said with a grin. "Read 'em and weep, boys!"

His smug grin grew even wider as the entire table leaned over, gaping at his cards in disbelief. Then, in perfect unison, they collectively groaned and pounded their fists on the table in frustration, erupting in a series of curses and heated words.

"Oh, come on!"

_"Again?!"_

"You can't be serious!"

"That was supposed to be my RENT MONEY!"

"That's it, mortal! I'm through gambling with you!" The dullahan beside Stan stood up, slammed a claymore with a jeweled hilt down on the table and snatched his scowling face up from the seat next to him. "If anyone needs me, I'll be on the dancefloor," he spat bitterly, disappearing into the crowd.

"Whoa," said Stan, tugging his collar as he watched him go. "Looks like I touched a nerve there."

"Eh, he's always been like that," said Morgan, begrudgingly pushing some of his own seashell jewelry towards Stan. "Never was a graceful loser, that one." Despite the obvious frown on his face, there was a kind of pride in his eyes. "You're really good at this, Stan. I'm impressed."

"Eh, what can I say?" said Stan with a shrug. "I know my way around a deck. You know I almost cleaned out Vegas last year when I went on a trip with my coworker?"

Morgan chuckled. "Lucky you," he said warmly.

As the rest of the company begrudgingly coughed up their own treasures, Stan could barely hide his excitement as his pleased grin only got wider. Watching with amusement as a leprechaun passed Stan his pot of gold (and muttering Gaelic curses under his breath as he did), the selkie stood up and stretched, yawning. "This has been fun, Stan, but I think I'm gonna go check up on my wife for a minute. I promised her a dance before the night ended, and, well, it's never a good idea to break a promise to ANY woman, if you catch my drift." He raised an eyebrow at his human friend. "You gonna be alright by yourself, mate?"

"Sorry, what was that?" asked Stan, hugging the mound of treasure in front of him greedily.

"Eh...Nevermind. I'll be back later."

As Morgan patted his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd, Stan turned back to the others at the table and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "So! Another game, fellas?"

With a loud _SCREECH,_ the rest of the company promptly leapt out of their chairs and left without another word.

"Aww, come on!" Stan called after them. "Sore losers!" Grumpily crossing his arms, he looked to some of the fairies that were still surrounding the table, shuffling the cards as he did. "Well, forget them. Anyone else here want to play cards? Come on, don't be shy!" He grinned. "Let's test your luck!"

"Yeah, right," said a leprechaun with a roll of his eyes. He glared at Stan with envy as he lifted a pint of beer to his lips. "Like there's anyone here stupid enough to take you on after that winning streak."

"I'll play you."

The leprechaun spat out his beer in surprise, and Stan turned to see the crowd of fairies parting and making way to let someone pass. A lone figure with a cloak and a wide-brimmed traveler's hat made his way through the murmuring crowd. He was young and handsome, with deeply tanned skin and curly dark hair, and as he reached the table and sat himself down, he smiled, revealing a gap between his two front teeth. "Evenin'." he said cheerfully.

"Huh," said Stan, looking him up and down with a grin. "Looks like we got ourselves a new challenger."

"Looks like it!" said the man.

"Uh, you sure you want to do this?" A selkie woman stepped up from the crowd, putting her hand on the man's shoulder with a concerned look. "Stan hasn't lost a game all night. If you're not careful, you'll be leaving this table a poor man."

"What can I say?" said the stranger with a smile and a shrug. "I'm feeling pretty lucky."

The selkie woman stepped back, shaking her head in defeat. Stan laughed approvingly, leaning forward with interest. "Hey, I like your gumption! What's your name, kiddo?"

"Jack Mercury! And _you_ must be Stan Pines." Jack reached out and shook his hand with surprisingly more strength than his tall, thin frame should have had. Though the brim of his hat still obscured his eyes, it was clear that he was looking Stan up and down with the same level of intrigue. "I hear you're a gambling man."

"The best around!" answered Stan, puffing his chest out with pride. "But, don't worry, kiddo. Since you were brave enough to challenge me, I'll go easy on you for the first round." He leaned back in his seat, tossed a sliver pocket watch into the middle of the table and raised his eyebrow with a grin. "Texas Hold'em. How about it? Know the rules?"

Jack chuckled, shrugged off his cloak and tossed a few gold coins onto the table. "You're on, Pines."

There was a moment of silence as the crowd watched Stan deal the cards, spreading three on the table and dealing two to Jack and two to himself. But as he sat back to look at his own hand, his gaze drifted to his opponent...

And his smug expression faltered.

Jack tipped his head upwards, going still at Stan's expression. "Something wrong?"

"Uh...no." Stan answered, squinting behind his glasses. "No, no, I just...noticed that..." He leaned forward. "You look...kinda familiar."

An intrigued smirk spread across Jack's face. "Do I, now?"

His slow, easy grin threw Stan off for a moment, and he ignored his cards as he sat forward, peering at Jack with a critical, suspicious eye. "Yeah, actually, you DO. Hey, be honest with me. Have we met before? My memory - " He coughed, rubbing the back of his head and averting his gaze awkwardly. "My memory ain't exactly what it used to be."

"Maybe we have, maybe we haven't," sighed Jack dismissively. "Can't really say."

Stan narrowed his eyes, his expression darkening. "Hmmm," was all he said.

Around then, the fairies glanced at each other, nervous, bewildered, and otherwise confused by whatever was going on between the men. As they whispered to each other, Jack sat back in his seat, arms folded behind his head. "So. Whatcha got?"

Stan looked up and flashed him a wolfish grin. "Straight flush!" he announced, laying the cards on the table as his audience murmured in awe. "Beat that, kiddo!"

Jack snorted and burst into a small fit of giggles before he laid down his hand. _"Royal_ flush," Jack announced. "I win."

Stan could feel the smile sliding off of his face. The crowd around them went nuts as Stan watched the younger man scoop up his prizes. _"Wow,"_ Jack said, smiling as he slipped them into his messenger bag. "Would you look at that? Tch." He threw up his arms, laughing in at the expression on Stan's face. "So much for your winning streak!"

Some of the fairies in the crowd snickered at his words, and Stan glanced around, cheeks heating up in humiliation. A sudden clinking sound caught his attention, and he turned back to see that Jack had tossed him another handful of gold coins. "So, how about another round? Think you can beat me this time?" The man sat back in his seat, shuffling the deck like he had been doing it all his life, and tilted his head up to flash him a dangerous, gap-toothed grin. "Or are you gonna go home and quit on me, Old Man?"

Stan's face burned again as his blood began to boil. Nearly spitting fire, he snatched up some of his winnings and tossed them into the table furiously. As the fairies around him jeered and jabbered on, he grit his teeth, determination radiating off of him in waves.

"You're on, Mercury."

\---------------------------------------------

"Is that them?"

"That's them. Their parents sent us this photo last winter." Ford's ears went pink, and he laughed bashfully. "I carry it everywhere."

He passed the photograph over to the lady in black, and she took it, eyeing it curiously. It was a snapshot of a four-person family all posed around a lit menorah and wearing matching Hannukah sweaters. Kneeling in front of the menorah and making goofy faces at each other were two young, brown-haired twins, the chubby pig squeezed in between them sporting a sweater of his own. The lady couldn't help but crack a smile at their silly expressions. She glanced up at Ford, eyeing the warmth in his eyes thoughtfully. "What are their names?"

"Mason and Mabel," Ford replied, his breath tickling her ear. "But my nephew actually goes by his nickname - 'Dipper'. There's a birthmark on his forehead shaped just like the Ursa Major." He chuckled fondly. "It's the most remarkable thing."

"Wow. No kidding?" The lady looked back at the photo, trying to see if she could spot the birthmark under his bangs. She couldn't, and instead she took another look at his laughing face. "He's adorable. They both are. I love them already. What - " She snorted and burst into a fit of giggles as she shifted her attention to Mabel. "What on Earth does she all over her face?"

Ford laughed too, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I believe that's glitter! A LOT of it, too!" He took the photo from her, examining it as he continued. "From what I understand, it was the result of her trying to make the world's shiniest Hannukah sweaters. She succeeded, of course, but I think she may have gone a little bit overboard. As you can see, there's a bit of a glare in that photo."

"She's the one who made those sweaters?!"

"Yes!" said Ford proudly. "She makes all of her sweaters! She has quite a collection, actually, over a hundred and fifty from last count!" He puffed out his chest proudly. "My niece is a crafty, creative young lady!" He sighed with nostalgia, lowering his voice to a whisper as he drank the last of his whiskey. "And she's also the sweetest child you'll ever meet."

The lady's expression softened at the sincerity in his voice. "I believe it," she said gently.

The two fell into a comfortable silence as Ford sighed again and stared at the photo, lost in memories. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the way the lady was looking at him, taking in everything from the streaks of grey in his temples, to his long eyelashes, to his strong jawline. When she found herself staring at the way he was licking the remaining whiskey off of his lips, she turned her face and coughed, cheeks hot. After another minute, however, she glanced back at him from the corner of her eye. Biting her lip and blushing deeper, she scooted closer to Ford and rested her head on his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest as she eased herself into his hold. "And Dipper?" she asked softly, stroking his chest. "What about him?"

Ford laughed again. "Dipper? He's _brilliant."_ Too drunk to care about propriety anymore, Ford brought his arm around her and leaned his head atop of hers as he spoke. "He's so, so SMART. You have no idea. And he's brave, and he always asks questions, and he stands up for what he believes in and he has more determination in his little finger than most adults have in their entire bodies!" Ford was absolutely glowing with pride as he rested his head on her shoulder and held the photo up to the light. "He has so much more potential than I ever did when I was his age. Whatever Dipper chooses to do with his life, he's going to bring a lot of good into this world. They both will. I know it." His face split open into a wide, dreamy smile. "I can't wait to see them again this summer."

Ford gazed at the photo, completely elated. So elated, in fact, that he didn't even notice how the woman's smile faded away, leaving her expression hollow and heartbroken. He didn't register how she seemed to sink closer to him, or how she pressed her hand to his chest as if she was trying to feel his heartbeat. He looked back down at her after a moment, catching the way she was watching his chest rise up and down as he breathed. When their eyes met, she hurriedly looked away, pulling herself out of his hold and taking her hat in her hand. "They're beautiful kids, Pines," she said at last, clutching the brim tightly as she averted her gaze. "You have a wonderful...wonderful family."

He smiled, too far gone to register the twinge of regret in her voice. "Thank you, I...oh."

Ford went still as the lady brought her finger up to his lips. He watched her as she touched his cheek, stroking it softly with her thumb and looking him in the eyes. "You're a lucky man," she whispered. "All these adventures, the treasure-hunting, the Stan O' War II. You're a very lucky man, and I couldn't be happier for you. You finally got the fairytale ending you deserve." She brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. "Baby, I'm so, so proud of you."

Ford's eyes widened in surprise as she scooted forward until she was almost on his lap, bringing herself close as she cradled his face in her hands. "Pines, do you remember me?" She leaned her forehead on his, her eyes hypnotic in the low light. "Do you remember anything at all?"

Around them, the fairies continued to laugh and dance and party on, the music reaching up to the rafters high overhead. But neither Ford nor the lady in black noticed as she sat there on his lap, waiting for his answer. Blinking a few times and letting out a slow, steady breath, Ford reached out to the woman's face...

And poked her gently on the nose. _"Boooooooooop."_

Her shoulders sagged in disappointment as Ford promptly burst into a fit of drunken giggles, hiding his face in his hands and knocking off his glasses as he did. She sat there, watching him with a pained look of exasperation, shaking her head slowly. "What happened to you, you idiot?" She sighed, reaching out to pick up his glasses and shaking her head as she cleaned them with the edge of her sleeve, holding up to inspect them in the light every so often. "Tch. You used to be so good at handling your liquor."

Ford continued to chortle and snicker hysterically until she tipped his chin up and slid the glasses back on his face. Blowing her bangs out of her face, she ran a finger around the rim of his empty whiskey glass thoughtfully, listening to it 'sing.' "I remember when you could knock back five or six of these a night and still be good to go," she said softly. "But...I guess everyone has a limit." She paused. "One time when we went out dancing, you thought it was a good idea to drink seven shots of tequila and half of my Hurricane, AND a couple of leftover Rum and Cokes from the next table over. You said you could handle it. I found you in the woods the next morning." She snorted derisively, but there was no mistaking the smile on the corners of her lips. "Stupid. So stupid. I don't know HOW you managed to survive this long."

"I'm sorry," slurred Ford, sitting back and adjusting his glasses, "But _what_ are you talking about?! We've never met before tonight!"

Her face grew solemn, and she stopped and sat still for a moment. "I guess the rumors were right after all. That..._thing_...he changed you." Eyes closing in defeat, her face crumpled as she slumped over on the table, clutching her head."You really don't remember." She ran a hand through her hair, her voice low and raspy. "You don't remember _anything."_

The grin slid away from Ford's face as he eyed her heartbroken expression. He sat up again, twiddling his fingers as he tried to think of what to say. "Y-you know what? I think I've rambled too much about my own life tonight. Why don't you tell me a little more about yourself?" He sat forward and nudged her gently, giving her an encouraging smile. "Earlier, you said you weren't from around here. Well...What brings you to Ireland? Are you here on business?"

She said nothing, instead glancing over to the black umbrella that sat next to her, running her eyes over its strange, dark silhouette. Finally, she stood up, placing her sunhat back on her head, eyes resolute. "Hey, what do you say we get out of here for a little while?" she asked, grabbing her umbrella off the seat. "It's a little crowded in here. I could really use some air."

"Oh! W-well..." Ford tugged anxiously at his collar, a small voice in the back of his head piping up for the first time that night. "I'd love to join you, but I made a promise to my partner that I'd stay put and...a-and...o-oh."

Ford's argument fell apart as she turned to him and chucked his chin up to meet her eyes, leaving the poor scientist stuttering nonsense as she traced his jawline and gave him a smile that silenced all remaining reason. "Come on," she said sweetly, lowering her voice to a soft, seductive whisper. "Let's go for a walk."

Swallowing thickly, Ford nodded, and as she began to lead him through the crowd, his gaze fell on her back. She had a shawl thrown over her shoulders, black, like the rest of her clothing, with intricate patterns that reminded him of Mabel's sweaters. Ford found himself staring at it, wondering if his niece had ever tried her luck at needlework - 

But at that moment, a pair of dancing selkies came out of nowhere and bumped into the woman in front of him. Her shawl slipped off of one shoulder - 

And Ford caught sight of something strange on her back. Something dark. Something white. Something patterned. Something _moving._

But then she pulled the cloth tight around her shoulders, and it was gone.

He paused in mid-step, the gears in his foggy mind slowly beginning to turn as he tried to process what he saw. But when the woman turned around to see why he had stopped following, he found himself lost in her eyes. She gave him another gentle smile, and that was it.

He was a dead man.

He gave her his arm, and she took it gratefully.

And the two walked out of the pub.

\---------------------------------------------

"Aaaaaaand that's the game. I win again, Stan."

The crowds of fairies had thinned out ages ago, leaving only two men seated at the table. Sagging in defeat, Stan clenched his teeth in frustration as he watched the last of his winnings get swept away by his opponent. Sitting pretty in a mound of gold, jewels and treasure, Jack shook his head and laughed as he crossed his arms and turned back to him. "You're not doing so hot, Old Timer. You wanna go ahead and call it a night? Quit while you're...yanno." He coughed politely, but did nothing to hide his smug grin. "Not so behind?"

Grumbling a litany of New Jersey curses under his breath, Stan just glared at him as he shrugged off his watch and slapped it down on the table. "Shut up and play me, kid."

"Again?" Jack's smile didn't falter, but there was a hint of surprise in the way he tilted his head at Stan. "Are you sure about that?"

"One last game." Stan held up in index finger, his expression deathly serious. "I beat you, I get my gold back. Every last bit of it. You beat me, and you get my watch. Antique, 1970's, mob-boss quality gold, keeps time like nobody's business. You in or you out?"

"Hmm..." Jack looked down at the watch, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know, man. It's nice, but it ain't _that_ nice, and you could still walk away with it whenever you wanted. Plus, everyone else left ages ago." He shrugged. "If this is about your pride, you got nothing to prove. There's no one here to watch you back out. I'll understand if you call it a night."

The twinge of pity in the other man's voice was the final straw, and Stan pounded both of his fists on the table hard enough to make the cards and the watch bounce. "Listen here, you little punk! I got one last chance to beat you, and I'm gonna take it no matter what! Now are you in or not?!"

Jack stared at him for a moment or two before he burst out into loud, approving laughter. "Now THAT'S what I like to hear!" he cheered, pointing excitedly at Stan. "Man, I like you, Pines! Alright! One last game. Let's do it!"

Jack picked up the cards and began to shuffle them again, humming something bluesy under his breath as he did. Stan watched him keenly, keeping an eye out for any signs of cheating or trickery. But there were none. Letting his breath out through his nose, he pretended to adjust the cuffs of his jacket as he examined the cards he had hidden in the sleeves of his clothing. He kept his face angry and troubled, determined not to give himself away, but inwardly he smiled and bided his time, waiting for just the right moment to strike...

But then, his thoughts were broken by the sound of Jack's voice. "So before we play our next round, you mind if I ask you a question?"

Stan snapped his head up in surprise. What was he playing at? "Uh. Sure. Whatever." He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, keeping his expression guarded. "Go for it, kid."

"...Are you happy?"

_"...What?"_

Stan stared in indignant shock as Jack continued to shuffle the cards, his posture as lazy and casual as ever. But his smile was gone, his voice less playful than it had been a minute ago as he spoke again. "Are you happy with where you are, I mean. Are you happy with where your life is right now? Hunting monsters, solving mysteries, sailing on a boat with your brother." He tipped his head upwards, and for the first time that night, Stan caught a glimpse of blue under the brim of his hat. "Are you happy?" he asked softly.

"How do you - ?" Stan trailed off, glaring at Jack before scoffing and shaking his head. "Listen, I don't see why it's any of _your_ business, pal, but - !"

"STAN."

Stan jumped at the edge in Jack's voice, and watched as the other man tipped the brim of his hat up with his thumb, revealing a pair of piercing blue eyes. They were the bluest eyes Stan had ever seen, and they seemed to glow with their own hypnotic light as Jack stared right into his soul. _"Are. You. Happy?"_

Stan sat back, unnerved by both the other man's gaze. But despite his hesitation and discomfort, the words left his mouth before he could stop them. "...Y..yeah," he confessed. "I'm happy. This is..." He trailed off, looking down at himself as the truth came rushing out. "This is maybe the happiest I've ever been in my entire life."

Jack sat back, cocking his head and keeping his eyes on Stan as he waited for him to continue. Stan, on the other hand, was somewhere else entirely, leaning on the table and tapping his fingers on the wood as he thought. "...I get to see the world. I get to go on adventures with my best friend. And when summer rolls around this year, I get to go back home and see my family. Seriously, everything's perfect. Everything's great. And sometimes, I wake up and...and it takes me a while to figure out that this isn't just some crazy dream."

"What do you mean?" asked Jack.

Stan sighed. "Look, kid. Full disclosure, there's been some...rough patches in my life, back when I was younger. It started right around the end of high school, after I - " He paused. "After I..._left_...home. I was alone. And it was hard. I was...a mess back then. Always hungry, always poor, always doing whatever I had to do just so I could have a warm bed to crash on, always fightin' to see the next day. For ten years. I was miserable, hungry, and tired for ten years. I was ALL ALONE for _ten. Whole. Years."_ His eyes narrowed at the painful memories, the gravel in his voice softening up as he began to get emotional. "I don't...remember ALL of it, not the specifics, anyways...but I remember how it _felt._ And I remember...that I never thought that I'd ever escape that, y'know? I remember that I lived like that for so long, I never really believed that I'd ever find a way out. I remember that I always just assumed that...that was my destiny. That...that was just..." He shook his head, his expression dark. "...That was just how I was gonna _die."_

There was a beat or two of absolute silence. Jack's eyes grew soft and sympathetic as he watched Stan, patiently waiting for him to speak again. Then, just before Jack broke the silence, Stan sat back up, the fire in his eyes reigniting. "...But I didn't. The Seventies are dead, but I'm sitting right here. With everything I could ever want. Everything I never thought I'd be lucky enough to have. I mean..." He shrugged, the edge of his mouth quirking up into a smile. "It don't get much better than that, right? Family, friends, a place I can call home..." He laughed breathily in amazement, the smile spreading across his face. Gratitude glimmered in his eyes as he wiped away a stray tear before looking back up at Jack, nodding defiantly. "Yeah, kid. I'm happy with my life. There ain't anything in this world or the next that I'd ever trade it away for."

Jack slowly smiled back at Stan, nodding as his words sunk in. "Glad to hear it, Stanley." He paused. "Thanks for being honest with me."

"Yeah, yeah," said Stan as he took a drink of his beer. "Don't get used to it. Got any other questions, kiddo?"

"Mmmm..." Jack cocked his head like an inquisitive puppy. "Just one."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Okay. Shoot."

"Why are you carrying that around?"

Stan sat up straighter as Jack eyed the lantern that sat beside him on the table. "It's a full moon tonight, and all the towns near here have plenty of street lamps to see by." He raised an eyebrow as he turned to Stan. "What's with the lantern?"

Stan stared at him for a beat before chuckling and throwing up his hands. "Hah hah! What can I say, kid?" he said as he took another drink. "I like being prepared."

"Prepared, huh?" Jack's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "Prepared for what, exactly?"

Stan scoffed and crossed his arms with a huff. "What is this, a job interview? Quit yakkin' and deal me my cards already! I ain't getting any younger!"

"Alright, alright...keep your pants on..." Jack looked him up and down a couple of times, and the way he stared at Stan made the old conman stiffen and shift around in his seat. But in the end, the younger man just shook his head and dealt the cards. "Tch. They don't call you 'Mr. Mystery' for nothing, do they?" he muttered.

"And don't you forget it," answered Stan, sagging a little in relief.

The two settled back into a comfortable silence as they sat down and looked at their cards. It took all of Stan's self-discipline to keep from scowling at the terrible hand he was dealt - there wasn't a single winning combination in anything he held. The only means of victory were if Jack got the same terrible hand...._or_....

Keeping his face even and his body language neutral, he glanced up at Jack before he made his move. Smirking inwardly, he moved his elbow just enough to knock his beer off of the table. Across from him, Jack's eyes widened as he reached out to catch the glass before it fell. He did, but in the process, he got soaked by the last of Stan's beer. "Ugh!" he groaned, shaking his sleeves dry.

"Aw, jeez, kiddo, I'm sorry!" Trying to keep the satisfied grin off of his face, Stan quickly took the opportunity to switch his cards around as fast as he could in the moments Jack had his back turned. When the younger man finally sat back around, Stan shrugged apologetically and passed him a few napkins. "I'm an old man now, and I forget to be careful sometimes. I've got that achy bone disease, uh...what's it called...gingivitis?"

"...Do you mean _arthritis?"_

"Yep!" Stan snapped his fingers with a grin. "That's the one. Huh, guess I'm too old to remember the name for it. Sorry, kiddo, but when you get to be my age, these accidents happen all the time."

"No...It's okay." said Jack, cleaning himself up. "No big deal. You good, though?"

"Yeah. I'm good." Stuffing his excitement down where it wouldn't show, Stan rubbed his hands together excitedly. "So...Whaddya got?"

Jack laid his cards down with a small flourish. "Full house, my man." He smiled at Stan. "Beat that."

"Don't mind if I do!" Stan's grin was undeniable as he laid his own hand down on the table. "Bam! Four of a kind! Looks like I win!" Laughing at the expression on Jack's face, his hand began to sneak its way over to his watch in the middle of the table. "Now, if you don't mind, kiddo, I'd like all my stuff back - "

"Hold up."

Some hidden instinct from eras gone by went off in Stan's gut, and as the hairs on his arms stood on end, he realized with a sinking feeling that something in the atmosphere shifted. Before he knew what was happening, Stan felt something clamp around his wrist. Hard. "Whoa, whoa, HEY!" he cried as he felt himself being pulled up by his arm. "What gives?!"

Jack didn't answer, and as Stan continued to kick and squirm, he simply continued to hold the larger man up in the air with ease, peeling back Stan's sleeves with his free hand. The moment he did, numerous items began to sprang forth - a rubber chicken, a few doves, a dozen or so colorful handkerchiefs tied into one long chain, and, of course, a few high-ranking cards of various suits. As the assortment of items littered the floor around him like rain, Stan gulped as he realized that he was caught.

"Well, well, well! What is _this_ now?" Jack's voice was as playful and sing-songy as ever, but Stan would have to be a complete idiot to not notice the layer of iron just underneath his words. As Jack looked back up at him with those intense eyes of his, Stan could feel his heart skip a few beats at the expression in his gaze. "Pines, were you seriously trying to pull a fast one on _me?"_

"Uh...!" Mind racing, Stan began to stammer and sweat as he rested a hand on the brass knuckles hidden just under his shirt. "Well, y'see I - Funny story, really, I have this weird, rare medical condition where I need to carry around a few extra playing what the Hell, what...what - why are you - why are you laughing?"

By this point, Jack was indeed laughing, so much so that he had to put Stan back down on solid ground before he dropped him by accident. Shoulders shaking with mirth, Jack snorted and slapped his knee to the surprise of one very confused Stan, who stood back and watched as the other grabbed onto the table to keep his balance. "Are you doing okay, kid?" asked Stan, eyeing the younger man with some concern. "You, uh, you're not having some kind of _episode,_ are you?"

"Making your own luck!" cackled Jack. "I like it! That's so...man, that's so _you,_ dawg!"

"Oh. Wow. Really?" Stan laughed uncertainly and rubbed the back of his neck, slowly understanding that he was off the hook. "You aren't mad or nothing?"

"Mad?! I probably should be, but jeez, you've got balls to try to trick a guy like _ME!_ I - " Jack snickered for a few seconds before he could speak. "I think I'm actually _too impressed_ to be mad!"

"Impressed, huh?" asked Stan, puffing out his chest. "Well, what can I say? The world can be a tough place to live in." Stan shrugged, leaning on his chair with a grin. "Sometimes...you just gotta even out the odds."

"Yeah. Okay." mused Jack as he began to collect himself. "I can respect that." He stood back, looking Stan up and down and tapping his chin. "You know what, Pines? I like you. You're alright. And I think..." He grinned. "Yeah, I think you deserve a little something for that stunt."

"So..." Stan's eyes glinted as his gaze moved to the large pile of winnings around Jack's seat. "Does that mean I get my stuff back?"

"Oh, Hell no!" answered Jack, ignoring Stan's scowl as he quickly pocketing his watch. "I'm keeping all of it! But...I think I got something you'll like even more. Here."

He dug around in his messenger bag and pulled out a small object, waving it in front of Stan with a wink before tossing it over to him. _"Συγχαρητήρια."_

Eyebrows flying up in surprise, Stan held up his hand and caught it instinctively, smiling and inspecting it curiously in his hand. "Hey thanks, kiddo I really this is a lighter." He glared back at Jack with a scowl. "This is a LIGHTER, what gives?"

"You like it?" asked Jack. "It's one of mine. She's got some years on her, but she'll never let you down. I can promise you that."

As Jack began to scoop his winnings into his messenger bag, Stan looked down at the small silver lighter in his hand. It was cool to the touch, and had a good weight to it. All along its sides was a delicate pattern of skulls, collaged over one another, and as he turned it over, he caught sight of a strange symbol carved deeply into the metal, one that felt vaguely familiar. Glancing from the man in front of him to his new prize, Stan flicked it on, then off, then on again. "Yeah. _Real_ generous, Chief," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey," said Jack with a shrug. "You never know when you'll need a light!" As he finished putting his prizes away, he sat back down at the table and started to shuffle the deck again. "You wanna play another round? Just for fun this time?"

"Nah. It's getting late. I should go check up on Ford anyways." He paused, then gestured to Jack. "My brother, I mean. I left him by the bar earlier. Don't want to leave him by himself all night."

"Grey hair? Glasses? Sweater? Has this blatant 'silver fox' vibe?"

Stan gave Jack a flat, disbelieving stare. "That's...one way to describe him, I guess."

"Oh, then if that WAS him, I don't think you need to worry." Jack chuckled as he began to play solitaire "In fact, it might be better if you stayed for a little longer and gave him some space."

Stan raised his eyebrow as he played with his new lighter absentmindedly. "How come?"

"Because he's with a girl."

Stan's grip on the lighter loosened and he yelped in pain as he accidentally burned himself trying to catch it. Jack watched in dismay as it clattered to the floor. "Hey, watch it, man! That's not a toy!"

_"What was that?!"_ Stan sputtered, leaping forward to grab Jack by the shoulders. "What did you just say?"

"Whoa, calm down," said Jack warily. "I mean, I wouldn't go throwing that around if I were you, but it's your lighter now, so - "

"No, no, no, forget that!" snapped Stan, shaking the man. "Go back to what you said earlier, about my brother and a girl!"

"Oh. That?" Jack eased Stan's hands off of his shoulders. "Yeah, it's true. A woman walked in earlier and started chatting him up. Ordered a drink for him, sat down with him, y'know how it goes." He looked up at the ceiling in thought as he recounted his story. "Last time I saw them, they were really hitting it off. She was really into him. Hadn't even talked to anyone else all night."

Stan gawked at him for a moment or two before he spoke. "Let me get this straight. My brother. Ford. He's with a woman?"

"Yeah?"

"Like, an _actual_ woman?"

"Yeah."

And everything's going..._okay?"_

"...As far as I could tell."

_"...OH THIS I GOTTA SEE!"_ Releasing Jack with a grin, Stan began to grab his things. "So, what does she look like, anyways?" he asked, grinning mischievously. "Scale of 1-10? Come on, give me something to go off here."

"Hmm." Jack leaned back in his seat. "Honestly. She's a solid _12._ Blonde hair. Green eyes. Kind of short, if you're into that. Oh, and she's wearing all black."

Stan froze. "...What did you say?"

"Yeah, she's pretty easy to spot in a crowd," said Jack, rocking back in his seat. "There isn't a single piece of clothing on her that isn't black! Hat, gloves, shoes - even the umbrella she was carrying! It was almost like she was dressed for a funeral, or something." He paused, taking a drink of his beer. "I wonder whose it could be."

Stan's eyes moved around in thought for a moment or two before they lit up in understanding. _**"Shit."**_

"Heading out for the night, Stan?" asked Jack curiously, watching Stan grab his lantern. "You don't wanna stay for - ?"

"No," growled Stan, snatching the lighter off of the ground. "I gotta go. I got some unfinished business to take care of."

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Jack alone at the table.

Sitting forward, Jack steepled his hands together as he watched Stan go, a serene smile creeping across his face. "Good luck, Stanley Pines."

He blinked, and as his eyes began to glow, his pupils changed shape, molding themselves into the exact same symbol on Stan's lighter.

"You're going to need it."


	4. Ends of the Earth (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Baby when we're touching in the dark, can you feel it?
> 
> I can hear the pounding of my heart, can you feel it?
> 
> When you take my body to the stars, I believe it
> 
> Boy this love is supernatural, can you feel it?"
> 
> \-------------------------
> 
> "Supernatural," by Kesha
> 
> \-------------------------

Somewhere overhead, a raven cried out into the night.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?”

Startled out of her brooding silence, the lady in black turned to Ford. It took a moment for his words to sink in, but after a while, she hastily nodded back at him with a troubled look. “Y-yeah,” she murmured distractedly, looking off into the distance. She clutched his arm a little tighter. “Yeah, it is.”

It was very late now, and after walking down the foggy country road for a while, the two had come to a stop at a stone bench just beneath a large oak tree. The mists here still hung thick in the air, and the tombstones that surrounded them were reduced to dozens of shapeless shadows in the darkness. But there, on the hill that overlooked the graveyard, they had a perfect view of the sky and the stars up above.

As the full moon shone down on them, cold winds rolled in from the sea. The lady in black didn’t seem to mind, but the chill was enough for Ford to start shivering under his jacket. He rubbed his gloved hands together and breathed into them to keep warm, but no sooner had he done this than he felt a strange pressure on his shoulders. Mind still running slow, he looked down at himself and watched as the woman wrapped her shawl all around his neck like a scarf, securing it until it sat snugly, but not too tight, on his shoulders. “There,” she said softly, sitting back and smiling. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death.”

Ford smiled back at her, utterly charmed. “Thanks,” he said, running his fingers along the embroidered fabric gently. His nose caught the scent of the woman’s perfume in the cloth, something mysterious and soft and floral, and as he breathed it in, a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Wait, what about you?” He turned to her with a frown. “Won’t you get cold?”

Her smile fell, and she looked away again, refusing to meet his eyes as she pondered his question. “Not anymore,” she said at last.

Ford nodded and cleared his throat anxiously, sensing a deeper meaning behind her words but not sure if he had the right to press on for details. After scanning the night sky in silence for a while, he glanced over to the woman’s despondent, bitter gaze, thinking of a pleasant distraction from whatever it was that was troubling her.

He cleared his throat, and she turned back to him in surprise, broken out of her train of thought. He smiled back at her and nodded his head to the sky overhead. “Would you look at those stars? Marvelous, aren't they?" He laughed gently, looking up at the sky with fond eyes. "No matter how many times I see them, they still take my breath away.” 

The woman looked up and nodded, a faint smile at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she admitted, "I feel the same way." Leaning forward in her seat, she reached up and removed her hat, undoing the bun on her head and shaking her hair loose as she mused. “When I was growing up, I used to look up at the stars from where I slept every night, and I would always wonder what they were made of. I would always ask myself if they were made of fire, or ice, or both, or neither. And I would always ask myself, why do they keep burning so brightly while everything on Earth fades away? Why do they get to shine on forever, if everything else - plants, animals, cities, people - all die sooner or later? I mean, they're just stars, right? Why do they have it so easy? What makes them so special? Thinking about it would always....always make me so MAD.”

She sighed, her nostrils flaring as she bit her lip. “I know it’s silly, and it's absolutely ridiculous for anyone to have a grudge against - against _stars_ for goodness sake. But...sometimes...I still look up at the sky at night, and I stop, and I ask myself, ‘What gives them the right to stay the same when everything else withers away?’” A shooting star passed over her head, and her eyes narrowed in bitter frustration as she bit her finger in thought and frowned. "How do those bastards do it?”

“Gas.”

She froze. “...Wait, what?”

“Well, you see, stars are made of gas,” said Ford, pointing up to the sky. “They're mostly comprised of hydrogen and helium, which are two of the lightest elements in the Periodic Table. Burning hydrogen into helium is the reason why the stars shine. And stars don't last forever, though they do have lifespans that are much, much longer than ours. Eventually, as they burn, all stars exhaust their nuclear fuel, and...u-um...”

Ford trailed off when he turned and met the woman's wide, clueless eyes. "I...n-nevermind."

There was a long, awkward pause where the two just stared at each other. Ford began to sweat nervously as the woman gawked at him with an intense, unreadable gaze. Finally, after a long, painful eternity, she spoke. “Uh. Wow. I....didn’t know that.”

“Yes, it’s...it’s quite remarkable, isn’t it?” Ford laughed without humor, ears turning pink at her bewildered face. “I-I read about the wonders of s-space when I was little and...and...” He sighed and turned away, sinking into her scarf like a frightened turtle. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re on the same page anymore. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She stared at him for a moment or two, contemplating in silence before snorting and nudging him playfully. “Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said reassuringly. “You just surprised me is all.” She tilted her head thoughtfully at him, eyes shining with unmasked admiration. “Even after all this time, you still manage to surprise me, Mr. Mystery.”

Too charmed by her smile to actually listen to what she had said, Ford blushed deeper at the affection in her gaze and looked away, laughing. “Haha. Ha. Ahem.”

“So, stars shine because of burning gases?”

“Y-yes.”

"And they die? Just like....people?"

"Eventually."

"Huh." Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, the lady in black scooted closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Tell me more, baby.”

Ford flushed at the sound of the word “baby,” and shyly brought his arm around her and fiddled with his glasses as he transitioned into Lecture Mode. “Stars shine by burning hydrogen into helium in their cores, but as they get older, they create heavier elements, like carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and iron....”

Time passed as Ford recounted all he knew about the stars to the woman sitting at his side. He had long since forgotten about the cold, warmed by her shawl and her company, and the way she smiled at him. As he held her close and swept his other hand around, gesturing excitedly as he spoke, she hung onto his every word, watching him with a mixture of awe and pride....

And deep, genuine regret.

But Ford didn’t notice that. As the hour flew by and she grew more spellbound with his words, he found himself getting more and more lost in those striking green eyes of hers. He felt a strong, undeniable pull to this woman. Everything about her was alluring, from her sweet smile to her long eyelashes. It was something beyond the drinks he had earlier, something beyond her beauty, beyond the boundaries and norms of mere human attraction. With every minute that passed, he found himself forgetting about the world and the other people in it as he fell a little more in love with her each second, and dangerously so, like a piece of metal to a magnet.

Like a moth to a flame.

If Ford still had his wits about him, he would have realized that something was very, very wrong.

But it was a little late for that.

The conversation shifted from star science to myths and legends about the various constellations. Ford told her the story about the Seven Sisters, about Orion the Hunter, about the crab that was slaughtered by Hercules and the two bears that ran into the night sky and became the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. As he told her the story about clever Coyote, and how he foolishly spilled a bag of stars into the night and created the Milky Way, she burst out laughing, her voice ringing in his ears with the sweetness and resonance of church bells.

And as she laughed at his side, he finally caught sight of the two things fluttering on her back.

The woman giggled so hard she began to snort, covering her mouth in an attempt to be more ladylike and completely oblivious to the way Ford was leaning back in his seat and staring open mouthed at the space behind her. He adjusted his glasses with raised eyebrows, eyes moving over the enormous pair of wings she was sporting. They were huge, and insect-like, flowing down her back like a cape and moving with the rhythm of her laughter. After his initial shock wore off, Ford realized that something about them was very familiar, as if he had seen their color and patterning somewhere before. And even with his brain gummed up by booze and the woman's strange magic, it only took a moment or two of thought before Ford snapped his fingers in recognition. “A-HA! _Acherontia atropos!”_

The woman froze, and Ford gestured at her with a wide grin. “Your wings! They look just like a Death’s Head Hawk Moth!”

“I...oh.” Turning pink at his discovery, the woman shifted in her seat, bringing her black and yellow wings into the moonlight. As she revealed her wings to him, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, watching for his reaction. “Y-you noticed?” 

“I don’t know how I ever missed them before! They’re incredible!”

The woman jumped and let out a squeak of surprise as he placed his hand in the center of her back, running his hand over the large, distinct skull-like pattern there. He traced his fingers over the edges of its eye-sockets, watching the way her muscles moved and shifted underneath his touch. “You have the exact same markings,” he murmured. “Amazing...."

As he looked up and locked eyes with hers, he caught sight of her mollified, flustered expression, and some of his senses managed to come back to him. “I-I am so sorry!” he stammered, sitting back and holding his hands up. “That was extremely inappropriate of me, I had no right to put my hands on your body like that!”

“That’s...wait. That’s...really all that's bothering you?”

Ford blinked in confusion as the woman shifted around and faced him again. “S-Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just....you’re taking the whole ‘I’m Not Human’ thing really well. Like, REMARKABLY well.” She leaned closer, inspecting his face curiously. “Are you..." She swallowed. "You really aren’t scared of m-me?”

Ford blinked, then shrugged. “Why would I be? Your wings are beautiful." He paused. "YOU’RE beautiful.”

The woman turned a deep shade of scarlet, and for a moment Ford feared he had made yet another social faux pas. But after a beat, she just giggled with delight and buried her face in her hands like an embarrassed schoolgirl. After a moment, Ford joined her, and their laughter echoed all throughout the graveyard.

As Ford chuckled, he opened his eyes and watched as her wings opened wide before him. His gaze moved over their black and yellow underside, and as they did, his face fell at what he saw. “Y-you’re injured!” he blurted out. "Oh, my goodness! Are you alright?!"

The woman immediately stopped laughing and followed his alarmed gaze to one of her wings. Her right wing was perfectly healthy, but her left was in tatters. Large angry gashes ran through it as if something or someone had taken a knife to it and slashed at it with wild abandon. “Oh,” she said, hurriedly folding her wings back up behind her self-consciously. “D-don’t worry about those. Those scars have been there for almost thirty years now.” She flashed a smile at him. "I'm fine, really."

“...Do they hurt?” Ford asked cautiously.

The woman’s smile grew a little strained. “Sometimes.”

Ford’s curiosity got the better of him, and before he could stop himself he spoke. “What...what happened?”

The woman stared at him, her false grin slowly fading away. She glanced off to the side, silent for a long time before she let out a long, weary sigh....and looked back up at him with a soft, genuine smile. “_You_ happened, Stan Pines.”

A silence descended upon the graveyard. Over to Ford’s right, a raven pecked at the dried flowers left at the base of a tombstone, and behind the woman, a fox peeped out from behind a stone angel. The atmosphere between the two had changed. Before it was friendly, and casual, and even a little romantic. But now, it was heavier. Tenser. Borderline claustrophobic. Ford gawked at her in confusion as her words sunk in, and he opened his mouth to try to speak -

But she pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. 

“Can I...Can I please get something off of my chest?” she asked shyly.

Ford looked down at her finger, then back at her before nodding slowly.

The moment he gave her his silent answer, her smile fell, and she suddenly looked more unsure and vulnerable than she had been for the entire night. The woman pulled her hand back and took in a deep, fortifying breath before standing up and clearing her throat, cheeks hot. “Okay! So! This is...awkward! And I’m really sorry about that! But before I get my act together and start behaving like a professional again, I just want to say....I...I just...Aw, jeez.” She ran a hand over her face, burning red with embarrassment, and she began to pace back and forth. “I thought I was ready for this. I thought I could come here and act like a big girl and do my job, but I can’t. I can’t, and I’m messing this up and I didn't want to mess this up but now I am and I can't shut up and it's too late to back out of this now and you know what?! I give up! There’s something...there's something I need you to hear! And it’s not going to make _any_ sense to you with the way you are now, but I...I need you to hear it! You have to hear it! I need to get it over with and say it because it’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for years now and it's now or never, and If I don’t nut up and go through with this, then I’ll never forgive myself, you know?!”

She stopped pacing and turned back to Ford, who merely shrugged and nodded hastily, extremely lost as to what was going on. She eyed his bewildered face for a moment before signing and standing in front of him. Eyes shimmering with emotion and face burning like hellfire, she placed her hands on his shoulders, looked him dead in the eye, and spoke.

“....I love you, Stanley Pines. I love you more than anything or anyone else in the whole world.”

Ford’s eyebrows flew up, and he glanced around awkwardly, looking down at her hands on his shoulders. “Uhhhhhhh.....”

“I know, I _know_ I never said it out loud before!” Now a luminescent shade of scarlet, the woman stepped back and pulled her hair over her face in frustration, obscuring her eyes. “You’ve said those words to me a thousand times over, in so many different ways, but I never once had the guts to say them back! I was too scared and too proud and too _stupid_ and I’ve been kicking myself for almost three decades now because of it! Look, at the end of the day, I don’t deserve you! You're amazing! You're funny and smart and you never give up, and I’m nothing but a big fat coward who didn't even have the spine to tell you how I felt!” She wilted and fretted as she paced back and forth, hiding in her hair like a frightened child. “You deserve someone better, you always have. And I realize it’s way too late to be telling you this NOW, but even though it’s twenty-something years overdue, and I know you don’t feel that way about me anymore...I..._I love you,_ Stanley Pines. I love you with all my heart. I always have.”

She peeked out at him from under her wavy hair, and Ford’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the tears in her eyes. “Every time you looked at me and told me how you felt.....I swear, it made me so happy, I thought I'd die.”

"Uh...Wow." Face burning pink, Ford looked away and let out a long whistle, drumming his fingers nervously on his leg. “I...I see.” He cleared his throat and tugged on his collar again. “I-I-I really don’t know what to say right now - “

“You don’t have to say anything!”

And suddenly she was there before him once again, taking his hands in hers and standing a little too close. “I don’t need you to say a single word, Stanley. I just need you to hear me out until I'm done.”

“Oh, there’s _more,”_ said Ford, shielding his face in secondhand embarrassment. “Oh - Oh God, why.”

“Because you need to hear it, that’s why,” she answered, closing her eyes. “From the moment we met, you changed my entire world. And I know that line is used in every other rom-com, but please believe me when I say you altered my destiny in a way I never expected. You made me feel things I thought I wasn’t capable of anymore. Things that I didn’t _let_ myself feel anymore. And you saved my life because of it. You rescued me. You saved me from myself. You’re my _hero,_ Stanley.”

Letting out a deep, steady breath, Ford cleared his throat and braced himself for the inevitable fallout. “Listen, uh...Ma'am...I...I’m very sorry, but I think there’s been a mistake - “

“Nonono! You didn’t do _anything_ wrong!” she cried, pulling him closer with enough force to make him gasp in surprise. “You didn’t do a single thing wrong, you’ve been perfect, you’ve been absolutely wonderful! _I’m_ the one who messed up! _I’m_ the one who ruined everything, I - !”

Her voice faltered, and Ford blinked as she looked down at her feet and began to cry. “I ruined _everything,_ Stan. Everything. This all went wrong because of me. You’re like this because....” She shuddered as she choked back a sob. “You lost your memory to Bill Cipher because of ME.”

The color drained from Ford’s face. “...What did you just say?” 

She sniffled, openly crying now, and Ford stiffened as she gently reached out and wrapped her arms around him. For a moment, she just cried into his shoulder, oblivious to the horror and hesitation on hiss face. But then, after a moment, she spoke. “...I should have been there.” She squeezed her arms tighter and held him close. “I should have been there to protect you. If I hadn’t left back in 1989, this would never have happened. You’d still be whole. We’d still be together, and we’d still be building the portal and tracking down those journals and trying to bring your brother home. If I had stayed, then maybe we could’ve made it happen. Maybe we could have brought him back and you could have talked things out and been best friends again. But...that didn't happen.” She sank up against him, weary and broken. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry we couldn't save Stanford. I know how much you wanted him back."

_“What?!_ Who - how do you - ?!”

She pulled away and cradled Ford’s face in her hands, suddenly very serious. “Baby, I swear, I didn’t want to do it. I thought it was the right choice, I thought I was protecting you, I never wanted you to get hurt, but you did, you did and it’s all my fault and I’m so sorry you had to pay for my stupid, STUPID mistake - !”

_“Stop it!”_

Under the thick blanket of unnatural attraction, Ford’s patience finally broke, and he shoved the woman away and stumbled backwards, landing on the ground with a grunt. “What the Hell are you talking about?!” he shouted, suddenly very scared. “How do you know all of this?! Who ARE you -?!”

But then he blinked, and suddenly the woman was kneeling in front of him, staring at him with an intense, desperate expression. Reaching out and grabbing him by his collar with an alarming level of strength that he did not anticipate from someone of her size and frame, she came closer, her eyes now catching the light in a way no human’s ever could. Dangerous and terrifying, she looked him in the eyes, hesitating as she thought about her next move. Glaring back at her, Ford reached into his coat, grabbing the handle of his magnet gun and readying himself for a fight - 

But then she touched his cheek, brushing a strand of hair out of his face with surprising tenderness. She smiled at him, and the moment she did, her strange magnetic aura hit him like a freight train. He froze, loosening his grip on his weapon, and though every single one of his instincts was screaming at him to shoot, to run, to defend himself, to ACT - 

He couldn’t move.

And then she kissed him.

In the back of Ford’s mind, there was a tiny, tiny voice. It was barely audible under the fog that filled his head, but it was there, demanding and persistent and stubborn. It told Ford to slap her away. It told him to incapacitate her, to twist her around and break her arm, to blind her, to shove her to the ground and run until he got to safety, until he found Stan, until the two of them got onboard their boat -

But he was too far gone. 

There was no anger, no fear, no suspicion, no harsh emotions in Ford’s heart at all. There was only a numbing sense of peace and calm, and a strange feeling that, no matter how odd or mysterious this woman was, everything was going to be alright. He could trust her. She would take care of him.

As she deepened the kiss, her bewitchment over him only intensified, dizzying and overwhelming. Like an anesthetic that coursed through his veins, the spell took hold of him and the little voice in the back of his mind was completely severed from his body and its actions. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he brought his arms around her and brought her closer, cupping the back of her head and tilting it at an angle for a deeper kiss.

Finally, she pulled away, looking back at him with so much love, it made his heart ache. And to his inner horror, instead of fighting back, he returned her smile and gently brushed a tear out of her eye. 

His senses were incredibly dulled down now. The edges of his vision were faded and blurry as he stared at her, and the raven that cried on the tree branch above his head sounded as if it were miles away. His reflexes were gone, his muscles heavy, his limbs like lead. He could still taste her lips on his own, and his nostrils were filled with the scent of her perfume, but the world didn't seem to exist outside of her. Not anymore. 

As he held a hand up to her cheek, she reached up and pressed her own against it, leaning into his touch and squishing her cheek against his open palm. “I love you,” she said, nuzzling his hand. “I love you so, so much. And that’s why....that’s why I have to be the one to put you in the ground.”

She kissed his palm softly, and with a pleasant, dazed smile plastered on his face, Ford watched as she stood up and grabbed her black umbrella from where it had been resting beside the stone bench. Her expression began to darken as she ran a finger over it and sighed. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you, Staney. But I promise - after tonight, you won’t have to know suffering ever again.” 

Ford could only sit there as she bent down to give him one last smooch on the cheek and whisper in his ear. “I’ll make this quick.”

He watched as her wings opened wide and began to move, their colors intensifying as she started to hover in the air. The browns and yellows shimmered like hot coals as the skull marking on her back shone like a beacon in the night. As a strange wind whipped through her hair and left it writhing like snakes, she raised her umbrella high above her head.

Ford blinked, and suddenly it was gone, replaced by something long, thin, sharp and sinister. She lowered the object, and as Ford caught sight of his reflection in its curved blade, his smile began to fade. “What’s....going on?” he heard himself ask. 

“Shh, shh, shh...you’re gonna be okay.”

Her shadow fell over him as she flew up against the moon, her silhouette sending a faint chill up his spine. As he looked up at her, the woman raised her scythe high, searching for the perfect angle. “Just close your eyes and take a deep breath. You won’t even feel a thing.”

As the scythe gleamed under the light of the starry sky, the lady in black gave him one last, gentle smile, her eyes aglow. “It’s time to come home, Stanley Pines - ”

_“NO!”_

Without warning, something small, chubby and loud launched itself out of the mists and sailed through the air, barking loudly as it went crashing right into her side.

"WHAH?!”

Shrieking in surprise, the lady dropped her scythe as she fell to the ground, landing on the grass in an awkward, undignified heap. “OOF!"

"Wh...huh?"

As her scythe fell to earth and sliced through the stone bench like butter, Ford Pines shook his head, the spell cast over him suddenly breaking apart just enough for him to regain some of his senses. "W...Where am I?"

"There you are!"

A small, familiar voice caught his attention, and Ford suddenly found himself eye to eye with none other than Aoife, the youngest selkie of the clan. "We've been looking for you everywhere!" She threw his arm around her shoulders and began to lift him up to his feet. "Get up, Mr. Pines, we have to go!"

"....Go?" Ford allowed her to help him stand and lead him through the gravestones, following her in a sort of daze. "Where are we going?" he said in a slurring, unsteady voice. "How'd you find me? Wa...wait a mmmminute. It's awfully late. Shouldn't...shouldn't you be in bed, kid - ?"

"Mr. Pines, PLEASE!" begged Aoife, tugging at his sleeve. "We have to leave NOW, my family can't hold off a Reaper for much longer!"

"R..._Reaper_...?" Ford paused in his tracks as her words sank in, and the moment they finally got through his foggy mind, he whirled around, nearly falling over as he did so. "A _GRIM REAPER?!"_

Thirty feet away from them, hair flying everywhere as she struggled and screamed, the Grim Reaper tripped over her own feet as a mass of seals piled onto her, overwhelming her strength with the power of sheer numbers. "What is _happening_ right now?!" she cried, looking down at a fat seal that launched itself into her arms. "Seals?! Why are there so many seals?! This is a _cemetery_ and we're MILES away from a shoreline! AAAAAAAH! They're everywhere! Get them off me!" Wiggling and panicking, she began to disappear under the huge squirming mass of selkies. "They're adorable, but get them off me!"

"A Reaper..." whispered Ford, watching the selkies overwhelm her. Still struggling to push through the fog in his head, he turned to the abandoned scythe, its blade still resting in the ground where it had fallen only moments before. "I've...I've heard stories about Reapers, but I've never seen one before....But...but according to the lore....Reapers....they only show up when someone is about to - "

"Mr. Pines, we have to go! Hurry! Please!"

Oblivious to the pleas of the young girl at his side, Ford's mind began to move as he glanced from the scythe to the Reaper. "She came here for a reason. She...she thought I was Stan. She came here for..." Eyes widening in understanding, Ford woozily knelt down and held Aoife by the shoulders. "Aoife, where is my brother?!"

Suddenly, a loud, sharp whistle rang out in the night, and a familiar gravelly voice shouted from just behind Ford.

"Cool it!"

Everyone in the cemetery, human, selkie and Reaper, went still at the sound of Stan's voice. The avalanche of marine animals paused in their attack and turned to watch as the younger Pines twin walked out of the mists, holding his lantern high. The flame within burned a deep, vibrant blue, the light it cast unnaturally bright. Carved into the wax all along its sides were strange symbols, burning white-hot and pulsing like a heartbeat. The moment he came within range of the Reaper, the light cast by Stan's lantern solidified into a large, bubble-like barrier. Under the heap of selkies, weighed down under blubber and fur, the Reaper's jaw dropped the second he came into view, eyes widening in recognition. _"S-Stan?!"_

"Stan..." slurred Ford, reaching out to his brother on unsteady legs. "Stan, you...you gotta get out of here. You're in...you're in terrible danger..."

"Sixer!" Catching sight of his twin, Stan rushed over to him, holding him up and inspecting him with a critical eye. "You okay? Jeez," he muttered, eyeing the way Ford was swaying back and forth. "Her pheromones really did a number on you - "

"Stan Pines, what are you doing?!"

Leaping up off the mountain of selkies, a scarred seal landed by Stan's feet and shifted back into his human form. "You need to go!" Morgan cried. "It isn't safe! Take your brother and leave! Now!"

"I ain't going nowhere," answered Stan, locking eyes with the Reaper. "Not without her."

"Pines, what are....are you out of your mind?! Get away from here!" Voice rising up an octave, the selkie began to shout, his voice tinged with frustration and fear. "Don't you understand how dangerous she is?! She's a _Reaper!_ A bringer of death! A collector of souls! She's - !"

"She's my _ex._"

The graveyard went deathly quiet. Ford's jaw dropped, and Morgan stared at Stan for ten solid seconds before he spoke. "...Come _again,_ mate? I don't think...I don't think I heard you right - "

"What are you, a cop?! I SAID, _she's my ex,"_ repeated Stan sternly. "And she's here for me." His eyes narrowed. "Now let her go."

One by one, the selkies all clambered off of the Reaper, moving away from her until she was left standing in a perfect circle of wide-eyed, whispering fairies. As they phased themselves out of the bubble created by the lantern, the Reaper pulled herself up off the ground, walking towards Stan in a daze. Squeezing his brother's hand one last time, Stan eased Ford onto Morgan's shoulders, and the older twin leaned on the selkie and watched as his brother walked up to the Reaper with his head held high.

"Ex? Did...did he say 'Ex'?! As in....ex-girlfriend?!"

"Ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, ex-lover, she could be any of those - !"

"Maybe ex-roommate?"

"I knew the Pines boys liked to flirt with Death, but - "

"Shut up, I want to hear what's going on!"

"Stan Pines?" Hair and clothes a mess, the Reaper timidly stepped forward, looking at him as if he were the only other person in the world. "Is that...is that really you?"

"Long time no see, Wings," answered Stan. "You uh..." He took a quick glance around at the crowd of selkies and the scythe left standing in the dirt. "You really know how to crash a party, huh? Hmph." Chuckling despite himself, Stan rubbed the back of his neck with an approving grin. "About time you learned to loosen up a little."

The crowd watched as the Reaper visibly sagged with emotion, holding her hands to her mouth for a moment as she stared at him. When she finally regained the capacity for speech, she moved her attention to his lantern. "What...what _is_ that thing?"

"Enochian Lantern Trap. It's a little trick I picked up from my brother's research. Neat, huh?" He tapped his finger on the side of the glass, walking a little closer to her. "Carve a few runes into the wax, light it up, and boom! The light it gives off ensnares almost any type of psychopomp within its radius. Valkyries, shinigami, lesser angels..._you."_

He stopped in front of her and gave her a bittersweet smile. "What's it been? Twenty, twenty-four years, give or take? You're looking good, babe." He looked her up and down and winked. "Missed ya."

There was a long, unbroken pause filled only with the sounds of the murmuring crowd. The Reaper stared at Stan in shock, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears - but this time, they were tears of joy. "You remember me?" she breathed, her face brightening. "You..._you know who I am?!"_

"'Course I do, sugar! You kidding me?" Stan snorted and shook his head, ruffling her hair affectionately. "You think I'd ever forget someone as irritating as you? Hah! Fat chance! Now, I admit, my memory's not what it used to be..."

Everyone in the graveyard went still as he tipped her chin up and brought his hand to rest on her cheek.

"But I remember you," he finished softly.

She stared at him in silence for a moment, smiling back with watery eyes. Then..._"HOLD THE FUCK UP."_

Stan rolled his eyes and stepped back, letting out a weary sigh. "Oh boy. Here we go."

As he lowered the lantern onto the ground, the gears in her head began to turn as she stammered and sputtered in confusion. "Okay wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, _waaaaaaaait a minuuuuuuute."_ Wings on her back fluttering anxiously in the lantern-light, the Reaper's eyes flicked around the graveyard as she pondered the situation. "Wait...but if you're _you,_ then...who....who was I....who did I just - ?!"

Stan gave her a long, flat stare, raising an unamused eyebrow at her questioning look. As she glanced over at Ford, her gaze fell onto his hands, and she took a step closer to him, counting his fingers to herself. "Six..." she murmured softly, her eyes widening....

And then it clicked.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_AAAAAAA**AAAAAAAAAH - !"**_

The crowd watched as the Reaper - 'Wings,' apparently - began to walk around in circles, tugging at her hair as she freaked out. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAH, WHAT DID I DOOOOOOO?!" she screamed, walking so fast she sent a faint wind blowing through the crowd. Hyperventilating in her panic, she paused in her step, took another look back at Ford, turned red, and shook her head in denial as she went back to her crisis. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH, _WHAT DID I JUST DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?!"_

"I knew it! I _fuckin'_ knew it!" Stomping on the ground in frustration, Stan whirled around to her. "You _actually_ thought he was me, didn't you?! _Didn't you?!_ I don't believe it! How could you - ?! Of all the boneheaded, idiotic - ! ARGH!" Stan threw his hands up. "Wings, baby, you're BETTER than this! For Chrissake, I thought you were supposed to be the _smart_ one in the relationship!"

Stopping in her tracks, Wings looked from him, then to Ford still standing in the crowd, leaning on Morgan and gawking at the two of them in bewilderment. She glanced back and forth between the two brothers, over and over and over, growing more distressed as she did so. "I - but I - you - he - I thought - you look - !" Standing up straight and panting, Wings pointed a finger at Ford and turned to Stan. "In my defense, he looks a _LOT_ like you!"

"Yeah! Because he's my _TWIN,_ you knucklehead!" yelled Stan. "Oh, my God! OH, MY GOD! Twenty-four years! Twenty-four years of radio silence, and you suddenly decide to show up - IN THE MIDDLE OF FREAKIN' _IRELAND,_ NO LESS - just so you can Reap the ONE person I have busted my ass to save for THIRTY YEARS?! _SERIOUSLY?!"_ He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Three decades of work, almost gone, because you fell for the dumbest, stupidest twin-related cliche in the book! Seriously, aren't you supposed to be, like, a PROFESSIONAL or somethin'?!"

"I am so sorry, I am SO! SORRY! Oh my God!"

Face burning with embarrassment, Wings turned to Ford and walked up to him. "Stanford Pines, I am s - OOF!"

Ford blinked at her as she bumped up against the barrier of light, watching as she shook her head in surprise. "W-what the - ?!"

_"Lantern Trap!"_ called Stan from behind her.

"Right! Sorry!"

_"Christ,"_ muttered Stan, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Rubbing her sore forehead, Wings clasped her hands together and began to address a very bewildered Ford standing in the crowd. "Stanford Pines, I am SO sorry! This was all just a terrible misunderstanding! I take full responsibility for my mistake, I am SO sorry, I swear I didn't mean to kill you!...W-w-well, actually, I kind of _did?!"_ she admitted, twiddling her thumbs. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're a very nice man and it's nothing personal, but I _am_ a Reaper and it's in the job description and all, so I GUESS I did technically MEAN to kill you, but in all honestly, this whole situation is _VERY_ complicated and none of my actions were from a place of ill intent, I swear, I...oh.....ohhhhhh."

Slowly calming down, Wings stared at Ford, finally noticing his unsteady legs and slightly glossy eyes. "Oh. WOW." She bit her finger nervously, cringing with guilt. "Ohhhh, I think my pheromones really got to him."

_"No!_ Ya _think?!"_ snapped Stan, walking up to her and motioning to Ford. "Look at him! He can't even stand up straight! Seriously, Wings!" he cried, eyeing his brother with worry. "How long were you with him tonight?!"

"I don't know!" confessed Wings, playing with her hair nervously. "Time sort of got away from me! But it wasn't that long! Three, four hours tops!"

"S-Stay away f-f-from..." croaked Ford, stepping forward and reaching out to Wings. But there was no strength in his legs, and the world went sideways as he fell to the ground and collapsed on the grass.

"....Mmmmmaybe five?"

"Sixer?!"

Rushing out of the barrier, Stan and a few other selkies began to help Ford to his feet. Unable to do anything from where she stood, Wings held a hand to her mouth in horror, watching as Ford lifted his head and stared back at her with a glint of hatred in his eye. "L-leave 'im alone," he slurred, baring his teeth in disgust. "Leave m'brother alone, you _mmmmmonster..."_

"What's wrong with him?!"

"Does he need a doctor?!"

"No, h-he's just been around her too long!" answered Stan, turning Ford to face him and inspecting him carefully. "It's some kind of biological thing all Reapers have. It incapacitates humans, makes 'em more willing to go peacefully when their time comes." He tilted Ford's head this way and that, assessing the damage with a critical eye. "They can't turn it off or control it, and once you're dead, it's not as strong - but if you're still alive, it really screws with your head if you're around a Reaper too long. I mean...unless you're used to it, that is."

"What should we do?" asked Morgan, eyeing Ford worriedly.

"Get 'em out of here. The only thing that's gonna help him right now is a little space, and a little time."

"U..uh-uh." Dizzy and half-aware of what was going on, Ford turned to Stan with a worried eye. "N...I'm not lllleaving you b-behind. Nnnnot...not again...."

Expression softening, Stan patted his brother gently on the shoulder. "I'll be fine, Sixer, don't worry. I'll see you in a little bit, I just gotta take care of some unfinished business first. You're gonna be okay, Ford, I promise, you just gotta get away from her, and the sooner you go, the sooner you'll get b...."

Freezing in mid-sentence, Stan caught sight of something on Ford's face. Stepping closer, he eyed the faint smears of red on his brother's mouth, gears turning in his head as he faced Wings again. She stared back at him with wide, clueless eyes as he noticed the way her lipstick was smudged ever so slightly. Standing up a little straighter, Stan narrowed his eyes dangerously. "...Did you kiss my brother?"

His question caught her off-guard, and she blinked at him a few times in surprise before she answered. "W-what?"

"You heard me." Stepping back into the barrier, Stan marched up to the Reaper, voice low and oddly quiet. "Did. You. _KISS._ My. _Brother?"_

A silence descended on the cemetery as Stan and Wings stared at each other, utterly quiet and utterly still. After a long, painful eternity, Wings cringed and looked away, face burning hot. Eyeing the guilt on her face, Stan stiffened, shaking his head. "You gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered sourly.

The awkwardness in the air was unbearable now, and some of the selkies in the crowd tugged at their collars, coughed into their hands and whistled innocently to cope. A few turned to Morgan, who nodded at them in a silent command. As the crowd began to disperse and give the couple some space, the selkie nodded to some of the stronger members of the clan, and together, they began to lead a very dazed Ford away from the scene. Struggling to hold onto consciousness, Ford looked over his shoulder back at Stan, watching him with deep concern bordering on complete fear - 

But Stan was too busy glaring at the woman before him.

Finally, after a few more beats of silence, he sucked in a breath through his teeth and let it out slowly, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. _"Okay._ Okay. Let me see if I get this straight." He began to count off of his fingers. "You buy a drink for my brother because you think he's me, you take him for a walk because you think he's me, you _make out with him_ because you think he's me, and then you almost Reap his soul because you think he's me. Seein' a pattern here, Wings. Not liking it." Sighing deeply, Stan crossed his arms, all traces of humor in his face gone. "Sweetheart, you mind clueing me in to whatever's going on? There's something you're not telling me." He cocked his head in curiosity, looking her up an down. "Why are you even here?"

Still refusing to meet his eyes, the Reaper hugged herself tightly. "Pines, come on. Out of every other human on the face of this planet, you of all people should know what it means when a Grim Reaper shows up in town."

Stan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Fair enough. _Allow me to rephrase that._ Why are you looking for me NOW?" Putting his hands on his hips, Stan looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "You know, 's weird, but...I had a feeling I'd be seeing you soon."

She straightened, blinking in surprise, and he scratched his face awkwardly as he explained. "Last night, I had this...dream, or premonition, or whatever you want to call it. About the day we met. So I guess I sort of..._knew_ you were coming, but...I didn't want to believe it. I mean...you're a little early, right? It's good to see you babe, don't get me wrong, but...I'm a little confused, is all." He shook his head. "Aren't you supposed to be picking me up in December?"

Eyes widening, Wings suddenly looked very lost. "....I-I-I thought you said your memory wasn't what it used to be," she said at last, glancing everywhere but him.

"Oh, for the love of - !" Stan threw up his arms in exasperation. "Wings, would you quit jerking me around and just answer the question?!"

A moment or two passed as Wings looked down at her feet, fidgeting uncomfortably and clearly trying to pick her words carefully. Finally, she sighed and looked up at him. "...Times up," she muttered quietly.

_"What?"_

Eyes closing in defeat, she took a long deep breath and let it out through her nose. "Your time is UP, Stan," she said slowly. "It's over. Come on. Get your stuff. We gotta go." She glanced off to the side, averting his gaze with a pained expression. "We got a train to catch."

"You're..." Stan stared at her for a minute before breaking out into laughter. "You gotta be kidding me. You're...you're joking!"

There was a moment or two where he snorted and chuckled, waiting for her to join in.

But she didn't.

Gradually, his laughter subsided, and his smile fell, eyes growing wide. "...You're serious?"

She didn't speak, but she didn't need to. The pity in her expression said it all.

When Stan spoke again, his voice was very small. "....No." Stumbling backwards, his voice began to shake. _"No!_ No, come on! Check your calendar, Wings, it's only April! You're, what, eight months too early?! I've still got time!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, starting to panic. "The deal's still good until this winter, remember?!"

"...It's not actually." The Reaper looked down, her voice suddenly gentle. "Not anymore."

Stan froze. "What are you talking about?"

Wings sighed deeply, avoiding his eyes as best as she could. She bit her lip, and in her distant gaze there was the faintest trace of hatred. "The Boss called me into his office the other day," she said quietly. "He was taking another look at your file and...he....decided to call off the deal. Told me I should go out and bring you in as soon as possible."

"What?! _Why?!"_

"I don't know!" she answered, her voice wavering a little. "When I asked him why, he was really vague and never gave me a straight answer. Said something about deadlines, destiny, cosmic consequences, all that garbage. I tried asking him to be a little more transparent, but he just wasn't having it. And when I tried to reason with him and brought up the deal, he..."

Stan straightened at the sudden fear in her eyes. Out of instinct, he brought his hand up to her cheek, gazing at her in concern. She leaned into his touch for a moment before shaking off her train of thought and looking up. "I think..." She swallowed. "I think he knows."

Stan froze. After a moment or two of stillness, he pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair absentmindedly as he mulled over her words. "Wings, babe, that's...I mean...a-are you sure about that?"

"No. I'm not sure about anything, Stan. I honestly don't know what to think about whatever's going on. But I know for a fact that if I try to go against him, it's not gonna be good. Not for me, and more importantly, not for you." The Reaper sagged, shoulders heavy with the weight of unwanted responsibility. "Honey, I _know_ you don't want to hear this right now, but this situation is out of my hands. There's nothing I can do. In fact, the only thing I _can_ do is...is my _job._ So...what I'm trying to say is..."

Wings looked him right into the eye and shook her head, forcing herself to say the words. "...This is it, Stan. This is your last night on Earth." She sighed, leaning on his chest and bringing her arms around him. "...I'm sorry."

Stan blinked, his face void of emotion as those words slowly sunk in. Holding her for a moment or two, he began to back away from her, shaking his head from side to side. "...That's not fair." As his hands clenched into trembling fists, unmasked fury began to blossom on his face. _"That's not fair!"_

The Reaper winced at the anger in his voice. "Stan - "

"Wings, we had a deal! We shook on it! He can't just pull this out of nowhere, I've still got some time left - !"

"Stan - !"

"My niece and nephew are waiting for me, they want to see me - !"

"Baby, please - !" 

"My brother is waiting for me, m-my friends, my town, my handyman, _Soos!_ I'm supposed to be at his wedding this summer! I'm supposed to be his Best Man! He asked me to be there for him! I _promised_ I'd be there for him! _I told him he could count on me - !"_

**_"STANLEY PINES!"_**

And just like that, the Reaper was in the air, hovering just high enough to make herself taller than Stan and exuding waves of authority as she did so. Broken out of his tirade, Stan blinked up at her, surprised by the pinkish-purple flames that engulfed her and the unearthly voice that was now coming out of her mouth.

She narrowed her eyes at him, irises aglow. _**"ENOUGH."**_

Breathing hard and swaying from side to side, Stan swallowed and felt himself leaning up against a nearby headstone for support, trying to focus his vision as he stared off into nothing. As she watched him catch his breath, her voice and eyes returned to normal, and she landed on the grass beside him. After a moment, she spoke. "Stan, I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't like this either. I really don't. Especially when you just got your life together....I mean, you..." She let out a small, amazed laugh. "You _made_ it. After all this time, you actually pulled it off. You got everything you wanted, Stan. Friends, family, adventure, your boat...your...b-brother...You....Jesus. Stan." She paused, her voice quiet and echoing with awe. "Honey, _you got him back."_

The sincerity and tenderness in her voice seemed to bring him back to his senses, and Stan turned his attention back to her. She gave him a sad, sweet smile in return. "You finally got everything you ever wanted, and honestly? I couldn't be happier for you. And if I could give you thirty more years to spend with your kids, or your brother, or to go hunting for your next adventure, I would give that to you in a heartbeat. ...But I can't. It's your time." Her smile fell. "I'm sorry. It's...time to come home.""

Stan closed his eyes and let out a long, deep breath before speaking. "...No."

The Reaper blinked. "S-sorry?"

"I said, NO," snapped Stan, his hands balling into fists."I'm not going! Not tonight!"

"Wha - ?!" Her expression distraught, the Reaper sputtered in surprise for a moment or two before she managed to collect herself. "Stanley, _please- !"_

"We had a DEAL, Wings!" he shouted, his face dangerous in the light. "We shook on it! Thirty one years! To the DAY! I've still got time!"

"You can't DO this, Stan! I know you're upset, but you CAN'T just..._NOT DIE,_ that's ridiculous - !"

_"I'm_ being ridiculous?!" Stan cried, stomping over to her. "When _you_ show up out of nowhere eight months too early, trying to cheat me out of my own lifespan?!" He scoffed and looked her up and down in disgust. "I can't believe this! I've been waiting for you for twenty-four years, wondering why you left and what I did wrong, and then YOU FINALLY COME BACK, and the only thing you have to say is that you're here to kill me?! Well, forget it!" he shouted. "I'm staying here until winter, and there ain't _nothing_ you can do about it!"

"I - !" Voice breaking, the Reaper stared at him with a pained expression before placing a hand on his arm. "Stan, honey, neither of us can change this. It's time for you to GO - "

"And I'm telling you, it ain't gonna happen! So turn around and take a hike! Do me a favor and leave me alone for ANOTHER eight months! Shouldn't be that hard for you, considering how easy it was for you to ABANDON me before - !"

"You stubborn fool, don't you understand?! I don't have a say in this, Stanley - !" 

"Oh, like you 'didn't have a say' in 1989 - ?!" 

"Don't you _dare_ bring up 1989! That was a mistake!" The Reaper was in tears by now, shaking with emotion as she screamed. "That was a _stupid, reckless mistake, **and I'm still paying for it!"**_

As soon as she said that, she knew she had messed up.

Stan took a step back, sagging from the weight of her words with a look of absolute heartbreak on his face.

Horrified at what she'd done, the Reaper's mouth opened and closed as she struggled to speak. "...S-Stan...Baby, that came out wrong - "

"No."

Taken aback by the quiet, even tone in his voice, she fell silent as Stan began to speak again. There was no fury in his voice anymore. In fact, there was no emotion at all. "No," he repeated. "I think you meant that. In fact, I'm positive you did. I mean, after all..." He narrowed his eyes, his gaze empty. "Why else would you have left without saying anything?"

The Reaper did not answer.

An uneasy silence fell over them, tense and painful, and so overwhelming it almost made it harder for them to breathe. After a brief eternity, Stan shook his head at her, a pained expression on his face. "All these years, I waited for you. I knew it was stupid. After the first year, I knew you weren't coming back for me, but like an idiot, I waited for something, _anything._ A sign, a message, an omen. Anything just to let me know how you felt, or where you went, or if you were okay. Or...or _why you left._ But in the end...I was better off not hearing from you at all."

Her heart sank in her chest as Stan Stan stared at her for a beat or two, eyes full of disdain and bitterness, before eventually shrugging and sinking back into a casual poker face. Letting out one last, tired sigh, he turned his back on her. "Nah, you know what? I'm done talking to you. My brother needs me." And with that, he turned to leave, phasing out of the barrier and raising his collar over his face. "See ya in December," he muttered bitterly.

"...Pines?"

As Stan walked away, the Reaper's glare faded into confusion, then fear, then horror. She called out again, her voice wavering. _"Pines?"_

But Stan kept walking. forcing himself to ignore her pleas. He didn't look back, he didn't acknowledge her words. He didn't even slow down.

** "S-STAN!" **

And with that, Stan froze in mid-step, his eyes wide.

Never, in all the years he had known this woman, had he ever heard so much fear in her voice before.

Slowly, Stan looked back at her.

Right off the bat, his eyebrows flew up at the raw, vulnerable expression on her face. It was the first time she had ever looked at him in such a way before, and that was enough to keep him rooted to the spot as she began to speak, slowly and clearly. "Stan, you idiot. _Listen to me._ Whatever you do, _do not run._ There's..." She trailed off for a moment, swallowing back tears before continuing. "There's nowhere to go, okay? There's nowhere you could ever run or hide where I wouldn't find you. Running is only going to make this more painful than it has to be. If you run, then I'll have no choice but to hunt you down. _And I really don't want to do that._ Not..." Tears began to well up at the corners of her eyes. "Not to you."

Taken aback by her honesty and tears, Stan forgot his previous fury and stepped forward, his voice soft. "Sweetheart...If that's how you feel, then...can't you just - "

"I _can't,_ Stanley!" she hissed, gritting her teeth in frustration. "Read my lips, you stubborn idiot! _I can't save you._ Not this time! Not anymore. No matter how much I want to."

She blinked, and as her eyes lit up, something shifted in the atmosphere around them. A steady tremor began to rumble through the earth and shake the ground they stood on. It was enough to make birds fly out of the trees in a panic, and as they did, Stan held onto a nearby angel to keep himself steady. Within the blue bubble of the Lantern Trap, the Reaper ignited in a blaze of purple-pink flames once more, the shadow she cast stretching out and writhing into strange, eldritch shapes as it loomed over the world below. As her wings unfurled and cast a shadow over Stan, he took a step back, dread and fear on his face.

"I'll follow you, Stan." Her warning was barely a whisper, but it resonated through his bones like church bells. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth and back. Whether you like it or not, Stanley Pines, the time has come for you to _die._ And there is nothing either of us can do about it." Her eyes burned with an otherworldly fire, but her gaze remained heartbroken as the tears fell faster. "I am giving you one, and only one, warning. Please. _Don't do this_. Do **NOT** run. You can't..." She paused to sigh, and wipe away her tears with the back of her glove. "You can't keep me in here forever. Sooner or later, that candle is going to burn itself out."

Stan gave her a look, and then shrugged, chuckling softly. "...Well...YEAH," he replied at last. "I figured as much."

The tremors stopped, and her eyes stopped glowing as the world returned to its previous stillness. "W...what?"

Stan shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What? You honestly thought that _I_ thought that this little Lantern Trap was enough to keep you down? Give me some credit, babydoll, I ain't that stupid." He shook his head. "You can't stop Death, toots. No one can. It's one of the hardest, meanest lessons life will ever dish out at ya, but it's the truth. I can scream, I can fight, I can run....but you're still gonna get me sooner or later."

"W...but, then, why - ?"

"Why don't I just get it over with and go with you?" he finished for her. "Heh. Easy. Because I still got some unfinished business to take care of. And I'm gonna take care of it. Know why? Because I still got a few tricks up my sleeve. I mean, after all..." He gave her a sly grin. "You can't reap my soul if you can't swing your scythe, right?"

Face falling, the Reaper watched as Stan walked over to the remains of the stone bench she was sitting on earlier. Her jaw dropped open as he took a hold of her scythe and, with some effort, pulled it out of the ground. "Stanley, what are you - _what are you doing?!"_

"Thirty-one years," he answered, carefully easing the weapon over his shoulder and turning back to her. "Thirty. One. Years. That was the deal, that's what we ALL AGREED ON." He stepped closer to the barrier, wagging his finger at her as he fumed with rage. "I've got eight more months left on this rock, and I'm gonna use them, whether you say it's okay or not! You hear me?!" His voice steadily grew louder, stepping just out of her reach as his anger came flooding forth. "I won them, they're _mine,_ and if Jeremiah doesn't like it, he can kiss my ass! He's waited this long - he can wait a little longer. And _so! Can! You!"_

"Stan, this isn't funny!"

"Who said I was joking?"

"This is NOT the time for your immature one-liners! Pines, this is SERIOUS!" she snapped, pressing herself up against the surface of the barrier. "You have NO idea what you're messing with!"

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a WARNING! You can't DO this!" Panicking, the Reaper turned to the lantern in the center of the barrier and rushed over to it, determined to put the flame out. But the moment she touched the glass, a crackle of blue electricity shocked her, and she pulled away with a yelp. Changing tactics, she began to pound at the surface of the barrier with surprising strength, but to no avail. "Stanley Pines, YOU GIVE ME BACK MY SCYTHE!"

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I gotta roll these dice." Rummaging in his jacket for a package of cigarettes, Stan rested her scythe on the ground and took out the lighter he won earlier. He flicked it open, and met her eyes. "I made a commitment to be somewhere this summer, and I'm gonna keep it."

The Reaper didn't answer. Out of nowhere she had gone absolutely still, her flames going out as she gawked at him - no, at what he was holding in his hands. Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Stan eyed the horror on her face as she stared at the lighter he held. "....Where did you get that?"

"What? This?" Stan looked down at the lighter, bringing it down. "I won it off of someone in a game of cards earlier - "

"Who?"

Stan jumped at the urgency in her voice. "Who did you win that from?!" she demanded, pressing herself up against the barrier. "What was his name, give me a name!"

"Why do you - It's a _lighter,_ Wings, come on!" Flicking the object on and off a few times, Stan shrugged at her and laughed. "I mean, I know you don't smoke, but you can't tell me you've never seen a lighter befo - "

"Stanley Pines, you answer me right now! Where did you get that?!" Shaking her head, she began to try even harder to escape the Lantern Trap, punching and kicking at the barrier with all the raw force of a freight train, causing sparks of light to burst forth with each and every blow. "You put that down! You put that down RIGHT NOW before you get hurt, do you understand me?!"

"What?! What the Hell are you rambling about, it's JUST a LIGHTER - !"

"NO, IT'S NOT - !"

But just then, a loud rattling sound caught their attention. Broken out of their argument, the two froze as the object in Stan's hands began to shake as if it had a life of its own. Blinking in astonishment, Stan cried out as the object flew out of his hands and whizzed through the air, pulled through the mist by a strange force over to a circle of crumbling headstones - 

And straight onto the business end of Ford Pine's magnet gun.

"FORD?!" cried Stan, jolting in recognition. "Ford, what are you doing here?! I told you to leave - !"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Stan faltered at the determination in his brother's voice. Footsteps still shaky, Ford made his way over to him, prying the 'lighter' off of his magnet gun. "I'm not leaving you behind, Stan. Not again. NEVER. AGAIN."

He paused, looking down at the small metal object in his hands. His eyes glinted with recognition. "Where did you get this?"

"Wha- ?!"

"Never mind," Ford interrupted dismissively. "You can tell me later. But right now..."

Ford turned to face the Reaper in the barrier, holding the object high.

"I got bigger fish to fry."

“W-what do you mean by that?” asked the Reaper, watching him flick the lighter on fearfully.

Stan opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ford spoke out into the night with a clear, confident voice.

**_"Spiritus Morte, ad quos eieci te...."_**

In that moment, all Hell broke loose.

At Ford's fingertips, the flame of the lighter began to change, shifting in color from a steady, harmless yellow to a sickly, venomous green. The Reaper's eyes widened in understanding. "Stanford Pines, STOP!"

Ford ignored her, keeping his voice steady as he continued reciting the prayer, making sure to pronounce each syllable loudly and clearly:

**_"Ad tenebricosum illuc unde venisti..."_**

As his brother continued on, Stan watched in horror as the flame from the lighter began to spit out small sparks into the grass, igniting it as they snaking their way around the barrier in a perfect circle. "Sixer, what are you doing?! " he cried.

But his words fell on deaf ears. Clenching his fist hard enough for his nails to bite into his palm, Ford continued on.

**_"Redeo ad ignem - "_**

"Stan, get me out of here!"

**_" - redeo ad tenebras - "_**

"Ford, what the Hell are you doing?! Knock it off!"

**_" - ad hoc mundo mortuorum - "_**

"Stanford!" In a broken voice, the Reaper called out directly to Ford as she backed away from the vicious flames encircling her. "I know you don't trust me anymore, but I'm not your enemy!"

Nostrils flaring in anger, Ford narrowed his eyes at her in a ferocious, determined glare.

**_" - ad Inferno - "_**

"Ford, STOP!"

The flames at their feet burned like hellfire as they wove themselves into ancient, mysterious runes. As they began to engulf the barrier, Stan tried to push through them and disable the Lantern Trap, but their heat forced him back. Whirling around, he tried to call out to Ford, tried to get close to him - but by now, a strange wind blew him back as Ford began to hover a few feet in the air, the symbol on the lighter glowing bright as he continued the exorcism.

**_"Spiritus Morte, ad quos eieci te in profundis terrae - "_**

"No, no, no!" As the flames began to obscure her, the Reaper broke down completely in her desperation. _"No, no, no, no, NO!"_

**_"Spiritus Morte, ad quos eieci te de hoc mundo - "_**

"Ford, listen to me! You have to stop!" 

**_"In nomine Patris - "_**

"Please don't do this, Stanford!" 

**_"Et Filii - "_**

_"Ford, I'm begging you, don't hurt her!"_

**_"Et Spiritus Sancti - "_**

As the flames consumed the barrier completely, the Reaper reached out to Stan and cried one last time into the night.  _"STANLEY!"_

_**"Amen."**_

As the final word of the prayer echoed through the cemetery, the barrier exploded in a burst of heat and light. A wave of supernatural energy washed over the graveyard, rushing at the men like an infernal tsunami. Just before it hit Stan, Ford lunged at him and whirled him around so he would take the brunt of the energy. It burned through his sweater and singed the edges of Stan's jacket, and as he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming, the older twin shut his eyes and held his brother close as a strong wind blew past them, came to a stop, then changed direction and blew backwards. The air was thick with the strong scent of sulfur and volcanic ash, their eyes tearing up in the heat that engulfed them - 

And just like that, she was gone.

There was nothing left of her, no sign that she was ever there, save for a circle of scorched grass and the faintest whiff of her perfume.

Slowly, the men began to move, pulling away from each other and locking eyes. Stan glanced around in a state of shock, from the fallen scythe that rested a few feet away, to the lighter Ford had dropped earlier. Finally, he caught sight of the empty spot where the Reaper once stood, pain blossoming on his face as he watched the way smoke sizzled off the burnt grass. Leaping to his feet, he shoved Ford away and ran to the spot, looking around for any trace of the Reaper, trying to speak, but unable to do much except make small, lost croaking noises. Ford stood up, watching him, and trying to catch his breath, wincing at the fresh burns on his back. Taking notice of the lighter on the ground, he carefully picked it up and tucked it away in his coat just as Stan tackled him to the ground with an angry cry.

"Oof!" grunted Ford as he landed on the grass. "Stanley, what's gotten into yo - ?!"

"Why did you do that?!"

Ford's eyes widened as Stan brought his face close, blazing with anger. "What did you do to her?!" he screamed. "Answer me!"

"I sent her back where she came from!" snapped Ford, shoving Stan off of him. "I performed an exorcism, I learned how to do one when I was in - !"

"I don't GIVE A **SHIT** where you learned to do it!" yelled Stan, tears at the corners of his eyes. "Why'd you hurt my girl, Sixer?! She wasn't gonna do anything! She COULDN'T do anything to me while she was in that Lantern Trap! For Chrissake, Ford, _you didn't have to hurt her!"_

_ "I did it to save YOU!" _

A minute passed as the two brothers sat on the ground, breathing hard and shaking with emotion. Eventually, their anger began to cool off, and as Ford shakily got to his feet, Stan looked over to the ring of burnt grass. He stared at it for a long, long time.

When he finally did speak, his voice was hollow. "Where'd you send her?'

Ford reached into his pocket and ran his fingers over the lighter. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and held his head in his hands, the picture of despair. Ford reached out to him, opening his mouth to say something comforting - 

But nothing came.

His brother's shoulders began to move, ever so slightly, and it took a minute for Ford to realize that Stan was crying. Somehow, even after all he had witnessed that evening, seeing his brother shed tears was the greatest blow of the night. Ford took a step closer, his mind blank as he watched his twin cry. "S...Stanley, what...who WAS that woman?" he asked slowly.

"...Everything." Stan clutched his hair tightly, shuddering with the force of his sobs. "She was...she was _everything."_

Ford paused, eyes moving as he thought. Movement to his left caught his attention, and he turned to see a small red fox sniffing at the abandoned scythe on the ground. Ford blinked, and suddenly the long, sinister weapon was an umbrella once again, innocuous and mundane.

"...Sixer. There's...there's something I gotta tell you."

Turning back to his twin, Ford watched as Stan stood up, wiping away the last of his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. Wordlessly, the older twin stepped forward and held his brother by the shoulders, waiting for him to speak.

Looking down at his feet with an empty expression, Stan's voice was very small when he spoke. "...I made a deal," he said quietly. "I had my reasons."

Ford's eyes widened, and he glanced at the umbrella on the ground from the corner of his eye before he looked back at Stan. Slowly raising his eyes to meet Ford's, Stan shrugged helplessly at him as he answered his twin's unspoken question. "You weren't...you weren't supposed to find out."

Somewhere over their heads, two shooting stars whizzed through the night sky together, burning brightly against the emptiness of space and disappearing into the darkness as quickly as they came. Placing a hand to the black shawl that was still wrapped around his neck, Ford eyed the weariness and heartbreak in his brother's eyes for a long, long time. And then, he nodded, his face resolute. “...To the ends of the Earth and back.” 

Stan staggered backward a little as Ford threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly and patting his back, the way Stan used to do when they were children and Ford had come home from a bad day at school. "No matter where we go, no matter what we go through, no matter who or what comes after you, I will always be there to keep you safe. I promise, Stanley.” Ford held him closer, tears now forming at the corners of his eyes. “Whatever happens from now on, I've got your back.”

As Ford held him, Stan slowly brought his arms up to return the gesture, still staring at the spot where the Reaper once stood. "...I know you do," he answered.

Somewhere overhead, a raven cried out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies,
> 
> And whenever they catch you,
> 
> They will kill you.
> 
> _But first they must catch you."_  

> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------
> 
> \- Richard Adams, _Watership Down_
> 
> \----------------------------


	5. She Wants Me Dead (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love me now while we're alive,
> 
> It's the best thing we can do!
> 
> We'll have no time upon Cloud Nine
> 
> So Heaven on Earth will have to do
> 
> I can sing like a bird
> 
> And dance like a demon
> 
> And I do it all so well,
> 
> 'Cause I made a deal with the Devil
> 
> And when I die,
> 
> I'm going Straight to Hell!"  

> 
> \------------------------------------------
> 
> -"Straight to Hell," by Great Big Sea
> 
> \-------------------------

** _May 13th, 2013, 3:49 PM_ **

** _Location: Onboard Speedy Beaver Bus #1044_**

** _It's been exactly one year since I first found myself in the strange and spooky town of Gravity Falls, Oregon. After our parents decided the two of us could use a little fresh air, my twin sister Mabel and I were shipped up north to spend our summer vacation with our Great Uncle Stan at his home/tourist trap, The Mystery Shack. Back then, when we were sitting in the back of the bus together, watching Piedmont disappear in the distance, I thought I was in for three solid months of boredom, boredom and more boredom._**

** _But I couldn't have been more wrong._**

** _Life comes at you fast, and Destiny always shows up looking for you when you least expect it. And in the end, the sleepy little town I was so afraid of going to ended up changing both of us forever._**

** _ From the very first day, I knew Mabel and I were in for the greatest summer of our lives. Within hours, we discovered that the impossible, the unexplained, the paranormal and the just plain weird were all hanging out together right in our backyard! We chased after the unknown, all day, every day! We fought monsters, found cryptids, solved ancient mysteries, uncovered hidden conspiracies and witnessed a thousand and one things that most people will never get to see in their entire lives! We made a lot of great friends, and we got our hearts broken a couple of times too. We went up against a terrible dream demon by the name of Bill Cipher - more than once, actually (and once would have been ENOUGH, trust me). We spent a lot of quality time with our Grunkle Stan, and learned things about him we never knew before. Things that none of us ever expected. Things that none of us ever saw coming._**

** _Like our Great Uncle Ford._**

** _That's right. Last summer, we met our Great Uncle Stanford, Stan's twin brother who accidentally got thrown into another dimension back in 1982. We learned about what happened between him and my Grunkle Stan back when they were in high school, and why they stopped being best friends. And for a while, my sister and I worried if we were gonna end up the same way._**

** _And then, just before our thirteenth birthday, the world almost came to an end._**

** _But I'm getting ahead of myself._**

** _My name is Dipper Pines. I'm thirteen years old. And once again, I'm on a bus, heading back to the strange, spooky town of Gravity Falls, Oregon. School is out for the summer, and me, my sister, and her pet pig Waddles are spending the next three months with our Great Uncles, Stan and Ford Pines. After we went back home to Piedmont last year, they've been sailing all over the world on their ship, the _Stan O' War II_, for the past nine months, chasing monsters and solving mysteries together. I can't wait to see them again! I can't wait to hear all about what they found and what they saw._**

** _And by the time this summer ends, I hope that maybe...I can return the favor._**

** _One year ago, on my first day in Gravity Falls, I discovered a mysterious book hidden in the woods. It was a Journal, with secrets and stories about all of the mysteries and creatures of the town. I didn't know it back then, but that Journal was only one of three, and all of them were written by none other than my Great Uncle Stanford himself. I never really told him about how much his book meant to me, but from the second I first held it in my hands, the world never looked the same again. Reading it, writing in it, looking for hidden secrets in its pages and chasing its clues so I could explore the wonders of Gravity Falls for myself - that Journal was everything to me. It opened my eyes to the possibilities and mysteries that are still waiting out there in the universe, whether they're lightyears away in some distant galaxy, or just around the corner. It gave me hope, hope that maybe I wasn't so crazy after all for chasing after Bigfoots and aliens and chupacabras or whatever, and it made me realize that, no matter what some of the kids in Piedmont have ever said to me...I am not alone. The people who believe in the unbelievable, the dreamers who want to explain the unexplainable - we're out there, and none of us, absolutely none of us, are alone._**

** _My Grunkle Ford's Journal gave me something to believe in. And now, I want to make something that others can believe in, too._**

** _My name is Dipper Pines. I'm thirteen years old. And what you're reading right now is MY Journal - or, as I like to call it, Dipper's Guide To The Unexplained (Book Edition). From this moment forward, I will be recording all of the mysteries, anomalies, cryptids, and paranormal encounters I run into, starting with all of the things I discover this summer while staying in Gravity Falls. My Grunkles have spent the past nine months solving the mysteries of the unknown. Now, it's my turn. I'm heading back to the most supernatural place I know, and I will make it my mission to fill the pages of this book by the time this summer's over. But between you and me, that shouldn't be too hard to pull off._**

** _Because if there's one thing I know, when it comes to Gravity Falls, you can always expect the unexpected._**

"HEY DIPPER, WHATCHA DOIN'?!"

_"WHOA!"_

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Dipper Pines toppled over and caught himself on the seat in front of him right before he and his book went tumbling to the floor. A gentle tug at his elbow brought him back into his own seat, and with his arms still clutching his Journal tightly to his chest, he turned to face sunny, sweet Mabel Pines, smiling sheepishly at him with a mouth full of braces. "Whoops! Sorry, bro. Did I interrupt your scrapbooking?"

"Uh..." Dipper glanced down at the fresh journal entry he had finished writing. He winced when he noticed the streak of ink he had left running across the page in his surprise, and with a small sigh, closed the book and began to tuck it into his backpack. "Sort of, yeah. But I told you, Mabel," he said, adjusting the fur trapper hat on his head. "It's NOT scrapbooking, it's journaling!"

"I mean...yeah," admitted Mabel with a casual shrug. "But they're basically the same thing, if you really think about it! We're both just telling stories, right? The only difference is that I use glitter and yarn and photos, and you use words and nerdy stuff - "

" - Math and science - "

"- Weird stuff you find on the ground - "

" - Evidence, I use evidence - "

"Aaaaand your ink drawings. Which are actually pretty awesome."

"Oh! Heh!" Despite himself, Dipper's cheeks began to turn pink as he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Y-you really think they're good?"

"Are you kidding?!" Mabel snorted, punching him in the shoulder. "They're great! They're even better than Grunkle Ford's!"

Dipper stammered and laughed, embarrassed by the praise but obviously pleased as well. Mabel took a moment to reach over to the seat next to her and pull her chubby pet pig into her lap, scratching his head lightly. "So, what were you writing about anyways? You had this really intense look on your face. Was it important?"

"Uh...well...sort of?" answered Dipper. "I was just talking about, y'know, all the stuff we've been through and my story so far. Basically all the things you're supposed to put at the beginning of a book. But other than that, I don't really have much else to write about. I was going to spend the rest of the bus ride chronicling all the stuff that's happening right now, but...you know..."

The two turned to look around the bus, which was empty, save for a lone passenger sleeping in the farthest corner, snoring quietly with his face hidden under his hat. The only other person onboard the bus was the driver, an overweight, sour-faced man who responded to all of Mabel's attempts at conversation with short words and exasperated sighs. Outside the windows, the beauty of the Pacific Northwest whizzed by, and as Dipper took in a deep breath, he could smell the scent of sunshine and pine needles on the wind that blew in from the open window. "There really isn't a lot to work with right now," he finished with a shrug. "How about you, Mabel? How's your..uh...project, coming?"

"Great! I've been working on some designs for Melody's wedding dress! Check it out!"

Gently moving her precious pet into Dipper's lap, Mabel opened her own sketchbook and began to flip through page after page. "So, remember how Melody's a HUGE fan of anime? I've been trying to doodle some concepts for a dress based off of some of the most iconic wedding looks in anime history to see which one fits her the best! Like, here's one based off of the dress from The Castle of Cagliostro! And this is a dress based off of that one Sailor Moon episode when they were all at a wedding! And technically this one isn't a dress for a WEDDING, but I mean, it IS worn by someone called 'The Rose Bride'. Plus, it's bright red! Who doesn't love color?! No one, that's who!"

"Weee!" squealed Waddles in agreement.

"And also, I think Melody would look really nice in red," said Mabel, passing her sketchbook over to Dipper. "So, come on! Which one do you like the best?! Be honest! Criticism will only make me stronger." She reached out and grabbed Dipper by the collar, squishing her cheek up against his. "DESTROY MY EGO SO THAT I MAY CREATE TRUE ART."

"Uhh..." Dipper glanced down at the sketchbook nervously, sifting through doodle after doodle of Melody in various outlandish anime gowns. "They're all...really nice...It's hard to pick which ones are better than others...wait." Squinting down at the page in front of him, Dipper's jaw dropped open. "Is...Is this wedding dress also a mecha?!"

"Yep!" chirped Mabel, tapping on the page. "After binging on Voltron, Gundam and Big O during my 'research' stage, I decided to balance form with function for this ensemble. It's titanium white with gold accents, so she'll definitely look like a queen while she's wearing it, but once you activate the wedding ring remote control, she will be able to morph into this sword-wielding, rocket launching form of herself that I like to call 'Mega-Melody!' She'll look great, she'll destroy all of her enemies, and plus, the metal that her dress is made of is both lightweight and durable. Also, like, really, really easy to clean with a garden hose!"

"And...HOW exactly is she supposed to make this dress?" asked Dipper, raising his eyebrow.

"Well, duh!" laughed Mabel, rolling her eyes. "SHE can't make it, obviously! But I bet McGucket could! He LOVES giant fight-y robot things! AND anime! AND Melody! I bet he'd love to help us with this project!" Taking her sketchbook back, Mabel tapped her chin thoughtfully with her pencil before nodding and doodling a big pink star at the corner of the page. "You know what? I think this design is my favorite."

Uh-huh," said Dipper. "And what exactly are you going to do with all of these designs?"

"Present them to Melody, of course!" she answered cheerfully.

"Well, not to burst your bubble Mabel - I know you've been working hard on these - but, don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself? The wedding's on Summerween, and that's, like, _right_ around the corner." He shrugged. "Don't you think Melody's already GOT a dress picked out by now?"

"Well, we don't KNOW that Dipper!" said Mabel, flailing her arms wildly. "I don't know ANYTHING about the wedding right now! All I know is that her sister Cadence is helping her plan it. I have no idea what they already have taken care of and what they need help with, but I want to be ready for every possible thing just in case!" She threw up her arms. "It's better to have these plans and not need them then need them and not have anything, right?"

"Whoa," said Dipper, as Waddles cocked his head at Mabel. "You're like...REALLY serious about this."

"Well, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Kicking her legs thoughtfully over the edge of the seat, Mabel looked outside the window and watched as the clouds passed by. "I've been dreaming about my wedding day for as long as I can remember! It's a big moment, you know! It's the day you look the person you love right in the eyes and tell them that you want what you have to be forever. You invite everyone you know and love to come together so you can tell them 'Hey! This person right here? I want to build a life with them! I want to start a family with them, and spend the rest of my life waking up to them every morning and falling asleep next to them every night!' It's a promise, Dipper. It's not just a day, it's a PROMISE. You tell the person you love most in the world that they're your best friend, and your soulmate, and that they mean so much to you, you're willing to commit to them, no matter how hard life gets!"

She turned back to Dipper, placing her hands in her lap and smiling bashfully. "I think that's totally neat, you know? And I think it's really cool that both Soos AND Melody believe in each other so much, that they want to make that kind of promise together."

Beside her, Dipper's eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, and after wiping them away with the back of his hand, he laughed and playfully nudged her shoulder. "Mabel, you softie. That's...that's actually really super cool of you."

Mabel blushed and laughed. "But _seriously,_ Dipper. That's why I want everything about Soos and Melody's wedding to be absolutely perfect. I'd want my day to have absolutely no hiccups or whoopsy-daisies whatsoever. And if the shoe was on the other foot and Soos and Melody were helping me with MY wedding day, you know they'd do the same." She stood up in her seat, sweeping her hand across the air and practically glowing with excitement. "This Summerween is going to be an ABSOLUTE FAIRY TALE, because I'm Mabel Pines, and I'M GONNA - "

"Sit down in your seat, before I stop this bus!" yelled the bus driver from the front.

The sleeping passenger stirred and grumbled where he sat, but soon returned to his slumber. Drooping a little from the sharp tone of the driver's voice, Mabel slunk back down, shuffling uncomfortably before leaning over to her brother. "And I'm gonna make this wedding go off without a hitch," she finished in a loud whisper. Grinning and winking at her brother mischievously, she held up her hand for a high five. "You with me, bro-bro?"

"I'm with you, Mabel," said Dipper, returning the high five with gusto. "To the ends of the Earth and back."

Suddenly, a loud vibrating sound caught their attention, and a song began to play from Dipper's vest pocket.

_"I have seen what the darkness does,_

_Say goodbye to who I was,_

_I ain't never been away so long,_

_Don't look back, them days are gone..."_

"Oh! Another text!" Fishing his phone out from his clothes, Dipper looked down at the screen excitedly. Mabel watched as he snickered at the message he received and began to type back excitedly, his face just a little bit brighter than before. Curious as to what he was up to, Mabel leaned over. "Who's it from?" she asked innocently.

"Pacifica," answered Dipper. "She's been messaging me every hour ever since we left Piedmont. I forgot to put my phone on silent earlier though, but we've been talking for the entire bus ride." Laughing at a picture on his phone screen, Dipper brought it closer to Mabel's face and pointed at it. "She always sends the BEST memes! I still can't believe she has such a great sense of humor, like, seriously, if I hadn't told you who this was from, would you think it was from her? I wonder if she's too shy to joke about stuff like this in real life. Or maybe too proud? Or a little of both? What do you think Ma - Hey. Heyyyy, no, what's with that face, why are you making that face?"

Dipper's smile faltered at the wide, smug Chesire-like grin Mabel was sending his way, and he couldn't help but swallow when she crossed her arms and shook her head. "Well, well, well," she teased. "It looks like Soos and Melody's wedding won't be the _only_ romance I'll be seeing this summer."

"What?! N-no, come on!" Face on fire, Dipper hastily finished texting back and shoved his phone back in his pocket, still stammering as he did. "Pacifica is just a friend, I swear!"

"Mmm-HMMMM," said Mabel, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Just a friend who texts you every hour and tries really hard to make you laugh."

Cheeks now a luminescent shade of red, Dipper shoved Mabel away and crossed his arms. "It ISN'T like that, Mabel, do NOT read into this!"

"Hahaha!" Laughing cheerfully, Mabel threw her arms around her brother and her pig. "This is great! Soos and Melody are gonna make things official, I get to see Candi and Grenda and Wendy and all the other folks in Gravity Falls, you and Pacifica are gonna start your own _scandalously_ torrid affair - "

_" - MABEL - !"_

"- And our Grunkles are coming back to spend the next three months with us!" Pulling her boys in for a great big hug, Mabel beamed from ear to ear. "This is going to be the perfect summer! Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is gonna ruin it!" Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called out to the driver. "Hey, Rod!"

"It's Rodrick," grumbled the sour-faced man.

"Crank up that radio!" demanded Mabel cheerfully. "This Party Bus don't stop for no one! Whoo whoo!"

Rodrick groaned and rolled his eyes. "If it'll shut you UP..." he grumbled under his breath, and he reached out to turn up the radio dial.

And then, something strange happened.

The instant the man's fingers touched the radio, the music began to cut out, first a little, then a lot. Soon, the bus was filled with the sound of scratchy, droning radio static, and as the twins began to take notice, even the sleeping stranger woke up and turned to look at the radio.

"Uh, Rod? Um, I mean, Rodrick?" Dipper met the driver's eyes in the mirror just above the steering wheel as the music crescendoed into a loud roar. "Everything okay?!" he called.

"Y-yeah!" the man lied, trying and failing to control the volume dial and turn the sound off. "J-just give me a minute," he called over the loud, deafening noise, "Stay in your seats, everything's perfectly normal! Must be some kind of electrical interference or whatever!"

On Dipper's lap, Waddles squealed loudly at the sound of the radio static, burying his head in Dipper's vest in an attempt to shield his sensitive ears from the noise. Dipper and Mabel both reached out to soothe him, and as the twins glanced at each other from the corners of their eyes, the other passenger sat up slowly, never taking his eyes off of the radio. As the driver continued to struggle with the uncooperative radio, the passenger cocked his head to the side like a curious dog, listening for something through the static with his back turned to the twins. Finally, when the noise was almost too much to bear, he raised one finger, met Dipper's eyes in the driver's mirror, and spoke. "You hear that?" he said over the radio.

The second he spoke those words, the world went dark.

Mabel cried in surprise and Dipper's heart nearly leapt out of his chest as they were suddenly surrounded by an endless, unyielding darkness. It took a moment for them to process it, but soon the twins realized that they had driven into a tunnel. As they drove through the mountain, the static died down. It was still annoyingly loud, but it was just tolerable enough for Dipper to hear the strange, surprisingly close sound of a train horn echoing through the bus - 

And then, there was sunlight, and the radio static suddenly died away as if someone had turned off a volume switch.

But just before the sound died, just when the bus drove out of the tunnel, Dipper looked to the front of the bus and caught sight of a large, dark shape flying across the road.

And then it was gone.

"W-what the - ?! What was that?!" Leaning forward, Dipper rubbed his eyes and pressed his face against the windows of the bus, keeping his eyes peeled for a pair of giant wings. "Mabel!" he cried, turning to his sister. "Mabel, did you see that?!"

"See what, Dip Dop?" asked Mabel, cradling Waddles in her arms.

"I...I don't know, but whatever it was, it was BIG! And...and fast!" As the image of a skull flashed across the surface of his memory, Dipper opened his backpack and began to fish around for his Journal and a pen. "What if it was a new cryptid or something?! I gotta write this down, Grunkle Ford's gonna want to hear about this!"

As Dipper began to scribble hastily in the pages of his notebook, the passenger watched his actions in the driver's mirror thoughtfully. Lips curling up in a small, satisfied smile, the mysterious man lowered the brim of his hat and settled himself back down to continue his nap. As Bus #1044 continued its journey to Gravity Falls, the passenger took one last look out the window.

And for a split second, he caught sight of a bright yellow sign. Painted on it were the words _'What is the Mystery Shack?'_

\-------------------------------------------------------

** _Journal Entry #146_**

** _Date: May 13th, <strike>Year of the Goblin Dog</strike> 2013\. (Still getting re-used to my home dimension's method of keeping dates.)_**

** _Time: ????? (Lost track. Circadian rhythm's been thrown off for the past month. Days bleed into nights, and then those bleed into days again. Ever since I made it back to Oregon, Fiddleford and Stanley have been 'secretly' trading in my usual coffee blend for decaf in an effort to get me back to a normal sleep schedule. It's understandable (and even admirable) of them to do this, but it's still a bit of a nuisance nonetheless. I'm useless when I sleep. Nothing gets done, and I waste what precious little time I have lying in a bed for eight hours. Luckily, I have my own secret stash of Death Wish Coffee always on hand. The caffeine in this could probably wake the dead with the right incantation. Currently on Cup #5. I can't stop moving and I think I might be able to count every molecule on this desk, but I will not be fooled and I refused to be stopped.)_**

_ **It has been exactly one month since my encounter with The Psychopomp, and since then, nothing has been the same.** _

_ **I can't, in all honesty, say that this is my first brush with Death. I first encountered the concept of mortality when I was six, when our elderly neighbor passed on and my family and I all attended her funeral. Just last year, I personally witnessed the events of Weirdmageddon and weathered cold-blooded torture from none other than Bill Cipher himself, the likes of which could have (and logicially, should have) killed me. And during my thirty-year stint of dimension hopping and wandering the multiverse, there have been countless times where I myself have almost died. After the incident in the Central Finite Curve where I first encountered (and escaped from) The Citadel of Ricks, I just sort of accepted the fact that nothing was a guarantee, and there was a high probability that every breath I took would be my last. I thought I had accepted my mortality that day. I thought I hardened myself against Death, built up a sort of immunity to the fear and paranoia it could bring. I thought I was ready to die when my time finally came. I...thought it wouldn't scare me.** _

_ **I honestly thought it wouldn't scare me.** _

_ **But that was before I met HER. And that was before I learned about The Deal.** _

__

_ **After the exorcism, my brother sat me down and the two of us had a long, long conversation. I...learned things about him that he had never told me before. There was an incident during the Winter of 1982, where he was involved in a terrible car crash somewhere in the state of Colorado. On that fateful night, he came very, very close to losing his life.** _

_ **And on that cold winter's evening...he met a Reaper. The one who was supposed to collect his soul.** _

_ **The one he named 'Wings'.** _

_ **And then, through a series of events that Stanley is still somewhat vague about, they came to an agreement.** _

\-----------------

In the darkness beneath McGucket Manor, Stanford Pines stopped writing and sat up in his seat.

Only a month ago, when neither he nor his brother had a care in the world, he had been the picture of happiness. But now, with his greasy hair sticking up every which way and dark, tired circles sunken beneath his eyes, Ford was an utter mess. As his eyes flicked around in an unfocused, distant stare, he sagged over his open Journal and clutched the sides of his head, suddenly overwhelmed by despair. 

"Stanley, you _knucklehead,_" he said out loud, his voice echoing in the empty lab. "What did you get yourself into?"

Silence flooded the lab, oppressive and ominous, broken only by the sounds of Ford trying desperately to control his breathing. There was a sharp sting in the back of his eyes and throat, familiar and unwanted. Shutting his eyes in an effort to keep the tears at bay, Ford grit his teeth and sat back up, downing the last of his bitter, black coffee. Setting his mug aside, he picked up his pen and kept writing, eyes burning with a cold, fiery determination.

\-----------------

_ **A card game. In December of 1982, my brother Stanley Pines did not, in fact, go gentle into that good night. Instead, he challenged Death to a game of poker. If he won, he'd get an extension on his life. If he didn't, then his fate was sealed, and his soul would be Death's to keep for all of eternity.** _

_ **And despite the odds, Stanley won.** _

_ **Thirty one years. Somehow, through some combination of divine intervention and cosmic miracle, my brother extended his natural lifespan by thirty one years. A little over three decades of extra life, to do with as he wished. And after his allotted time was up, The Psychopomp was to come for him during the coldest day of Winter in the year 2013. And no matter where he was, no matter what he was doing....he was to go quietly with her and pass on from this world without any arguing or resistance.** _

_ **Thirty one years. To the day. No more, no less. No exceptions.** _

_ **I have....many feelings about the matter at hand. But I don't want to judge my brother for his choice. In all honesty, I can't really say that I wouldn't have done the same had I been the one on the brink of Death. During our conversation, Stanley told me that he had his reasons to strike up a Faustian deal with such a horrendous, dangerous being. But when I pressed them for details on what they were...he stayed silent.** _

_ **I can't judge my brother for what he did. But I sure as Hell hope that whatever his motives were, whatever he chose to unnaturally extend his life for - I hope it was worth it.** _

_ **But it doesn't matter now. ** _

_ **It doesn't matter what his reasons were, or what his choice was. That's his business, and I don't need to know anything else. I trust my brother with my life. I know what he did, he did for a good reason, whatever it may be. What does matter right now is the fact that, for reasons he himself cannot say, his contract with Wings has been cancelled. Death is coming for my brother Stanley, and sooner or later, that Reaper - that monster - will show her face again.** _

_ **And when she does, we'll be ready.** _

_ **Many things transpired during the night of April 13th, 2013. There's a lot I can't remember - my mind was left in a daze through that woman's strange magic. It was hard enough to stay awake, let alone keep track of everything that was happening all around me. But I remember the important points. I almost died. My brother almost died. That creature - "Wings" - there's a possibility she may have died during the exorcism (and if she did, then good riddance). But in that chaos, we came across four distinct items that we were able to find useful. Three of the artifacts were left behind by The Psychopomp herself. The fourth fell into Stanley's hands during the hours we were separated from each other. After collecting these objects and taking them back to the Stan O'War II, I realized that I had an opportunity to help my brother and save his life by working with what I'm best at - SCIENCE.**_

_ **** _

_ **** _

_**For the past month, I have been studying these four artifacts, which I've named as follows: Subject #665-A, Subject #665-B, Subject #665-C, and finally, Subject #666. I have recorded all of my findings in a brand new book l designated specifically for the study of psychopomps and anything related to them - a book which I now like to call 'Journal #4.' In the previous entries of this Journal, I have discussed my findings, experiments and notes on these items. And now, after much examination and study, I feel the need to take a brief break from my research and to recap all that I have learned from them, and what I have gained from them as well. ** _

_ ** Subject #665-A: 'THE SHAWL' ** _

** _Subject #665-A is, as the name implies, a woman's shawl, about 110 cm wide to 210 cm (or...43.3 inches wide to 82.6 inches long, for any readers who have trouble with mentally converting metric measurements.) By all accounts and purposes, its appearance is...pretty normal, actually. Black in color, tassels all along the edges, embroidered patterns on the surface - whatever, it's a shawl. Its appearance really isn't much to talk about._**

** _What makes Subject #665-A so interesting is that it's made from a material that doesn't seem to quite exist in our world. Whatever it's made of is similar to cotton in its softness, and can keep a person warm as well as any high-quality wool. But no matter how many fabrics or blends I've compared it to, I have yet to figure out exactly what it is. However, I HAVE come to discover a handful of anomalous qualities that this material has. It's surprisingly durable. It can keep its shape under extreme stress. It withstands any and all potential damage to the point that I am convinced it 'refuses' to tear (possibly through some will of its own? Must not rule out sentience). It doesn't shrink in extreme heat, and it can resist various kinds of stains. Seriously. Any stains. Ketchup. Grass. Bleach. Sulfuric acid. Bubblegum. Nothing ruins this material!_**

** _And....when it comes into contact with BLOOD, whether animal or human....it simply...absorbs it. Quite well. To the point that no traces of blood can be found on the garment afterwards, even under a microscope. All traces of blood, no matter how small, simply vanish into thin air, as if the garment itself just 'swallowed' it up._**

** _I find this...highly disturbing. For obvious reasons._**

** _Moving on._**

** _During one of these close examinations of Subject #665-A, I DID discover something vital to my research: Pheromones! Trace amounts of Reaper pheromones! The very same that were used to incapacitate me during the encounter with The Psychopomp last month. Along with some run-of-the-mill ectoplasm and trace amounts of perfume dating back to the late 19th - early 20th century, Subject #665-A was more or less soaked in these strange biochemicals, and I've been studying them in order to understand how they work and how they can be neutralized. It has been difficult; they don't seem to be quite like any found on Earth. But after many, many experiments, I believe I have found a way to combat their effects. _**

** _More on that later. For now, I'll move on to Subject #665-B._**

** _Subject #665-B: 'THE HAT'_ **

** _Subject #665-B is a woman's sunhat, black, wide-brimmed, size 7 and 1/4 (58 cm, 22 and 3/4 inches). It is quite large, bordering on the edge of ostentatious. Honestly, if it weren't for the grim color palette or the lack of any serious decoration, someone could easily wear it to the Kentucky Derby. Upon first glance, something about it struck me with an odd sense of disconnected nostalgia, as if it came from an era long gone. I've never been interested in fashion, so I don't recognize what time period it's from. I have attempted to discover its true age multiple times through my experiments, but have so far come up short._**

** _Despite all the discoveries that have been made from studying Subject #665-A and #665-C, there isn't much else to say about Subject #665-B itself. It's a hat. It's old. That's about it. The lack of any serious data is mainly due to two reasons._**

** _The first is that, despite the anomalous natures of its brethren, there just doesn't seem to be anything else too unusual about #665-B. The materials from which it is made of correlate to similar materials found in our world. The structure is the same as other similar objects from our world. It casts a shadow as it should, it can be worn on the head without dire consequences or altering human brain waves, it doesn't contain a hidden portal or pocket dimension within itself. It is, by all accounts, an ordinary hat._**

**_The second reason why there hasn't been much to say about Subject #665-B is that I cannot, no matter how hard I try, convince my brother to part with it. At least, long enough for me to do any serious experimentation on it. In fact, every time I attempted to put Subject #665-B through a relatively risky experiment (i.e. testing its durability by setting it on fire or seeing if it could deflect bullets), he always intervened and took it back. He even went so far as to hide it from me for a few days after each attempt. Stanley hasn't admitted it to me yet, but it is clear that this hat reminds him of The Psychopomp. And for whatever reason, he has become immensely attached to it. He doesn't know that I know, but I am fully aware of the fact that he carries it everywhere. He never lets it out of his sight._ **

**_There...has to be a reason for this....right? If there is one...then it's most certainly something I don't understand._ **

**_ Well. That's a mystery to be solved for another day._ **

**_ Moving on._ **

** _Though Subject #665-B is surprisingly normal in terms of its own personal attributes, it has been a goldmine for further discoveries. After examining it thoroughly numerous times, I have found small amounts of ectoplasm, sulfur, flower pollen, sweat, pheromones identical to the ones found on Subject #665-A, graveyard dirt, chocolate cake frosting (?????) and other strange materials found on its surface - some of them unexplainable. I can only guess that this odd mix of trace materials is due to the fact that The Psychopomp spends her days reaping souls from various locations in this dimension, and thus would come in contact with multiple materials, both mundane and extraordinary. But as of right now, that is only speculation, and I doubt if it will ever truly be confirmed._ **

** _Along with these tiny clues, I have also been able to find strands of The Psychopomp's hair in the lining - multiple strands, in fact! And with them, skin cells. I've been studying these cells, using the computers and other equipment in Fiddleford's lab, in order to gain a better understanding of a Reaper's biology. _ **

** _The results have been....alarming._ **

** _All DNA is made up of 4 nucleotides, or letters: A T C and G. And within DNA, there are millions of these letters, with countless combinations that make up different traits. All life, from humans to dogs to trees and everything in between, is built on the backs of these four nucleotides._ **

** _And Reapers are no exception._ **

** _That's right. According to the data I've collected, human DNA and Reaper DNA are incredibly similar. The Psychopomp's biological make-up mirrors ours in such a way, that part of me suspects that there's a possibility she might be "related" to humans from an evolutionary standpoint. And I'm not entirely sure how to respond to that. The implications of that notion are...unsettling, to say the least, but there's so much evidence that it's the truth that...well, I can't seem to wrap my head around it._ **

** _But that's not the weirdest part._ **

** _Though her DNA is human-esque, there is ONE key difference that separates her molecular structure from, let's say, mine:_ **

** _It's inert. Her DNA. It doesn't change. At all._ **

** _A human's DNA is composed of two strands wrapping around each other. To grow and develop, these strands separate and build new strands to compliment them. Two strands turn into four, four strands turn into eight, and so on and so forth. As per the unspoken laws of biology, these strands divide, grow, change and mutate. _ **

** _But hers? Hers don't. And that's REALLY bizarre._ **

** _I've examined her cells multiple times, and every time I do, I always come to the same conclusion. For whatever reason, her DNA is inert. There's something about it that seems to be chemically modified in a way that has frozen the "growth" process. Which, from a scientific standpoint, is so damn creepy. It defies logic. Biology is all about growth, development, chemical processes - it’s dynamic. For DNA to NOT change, to never grow or decay - it just doesn't make any sense! I'd have an easier time believing that rocks have DNA! I just don't get it! If she's part of this universe, then she has to follow the laws of this universe. Does this imply that she's SOMEHOW on a different plane of existence removed from ours? One that doesn't seem to obey the laws of time? And yet somehow can constantly interact with ours without disrupting the fabric of reality? Is she part of two realities, one where she can exist as a being made of matter - but with SUPER INERTIA?!_ **

** _I really, REALLY don't like what any of this implies!_ **

** _I have...SO many questions, and I WILL get to them later when I have the time.....but unfortunately, right now, I have to follow my priorities and focus on finding a weakness in her species, one we can weaponize and use against her. She's...well, she's WEIRD, but if she DOES have a weakness, I will find it. I will not stop until I find it. I don't care what she's capable of or what she does to me. I won't let her take my brother._**

\----------------------

Ford paused, and it suddenly occurred to him that his breath had grown shallow and his eyes had grown wet again.

Grunting in frustration, he shook his head and crossed out the last two lines he wrote before moving on.

\----------------------

** _And with that, we come to the most dangerous artifact._ **

\----------------------

Letting out a long breath through his nose, Ford turned and looked at the object to his left.

Sitting alone on a nearby table of its very own, underneath the glass of a particularly large bell jar, was a large black umbrella. Through some strange magic of its own, it floated within the glass, bobbing up and down ever so slightly, and the more Ford stared at it, the more he couldn't help but feel as if it was staring back.

Glaring at it one last time, he turned back to his Journal and kept writing.

\----------------------

** _Subject #665-C: 'THE SCYTHE'_ **

** _Subject #665-C is, according to the lore, one of the most dangerous weapons in the known universe. Capable of killing any living thing in existence with one swing, its main purpose is to sever any soul the blade comes into contact with from its body - permanently. When inactive, it takes on the form of an old black umbrella. Since falling into my possession, it has remained inactive, which, quite frankly, I have no problem with. It can stay in its inactive state all it wants, I have absolutely NO desire to ever witness it while it is 'in use' ever again._ **

** _Though much of Subject #665-C's true nature is hidden from me while it is in this particular form, I HAVE been able to find numerous anomalous qualities over the hours I have spent examining it. For example, though it certainly mimics the feel, the size, and the function of any ordinary umbrella, it is much more resilient and versatile._**

** _It can resist tearing. It can resist freezing. It is fireproof, bulletproof, acidproof, waterproof (yes, I know it's an UMBRELLA, but as a scientist, I had to double check, shut up), and it can withstand absolutely INSANE amounts of pressure. No matter what I put it through, it doesn't get damaged - AT ALL. Liquid nitrogen, concrete, a direct hit from my ray gun - nothing I have thrown at it was even able to leave a scratch. In fact, most of the physical objects I used to test the durability of Subject #665-C ended up getting severely damaged themselves in the process. _ **

** _Subject #665-C is also capable of carrying a lot of weight. To satisfy my (admittedly somewhat childish) curiosity, I opened Subject #665-C up and jumped off of a table in the lab. And to my pleasant surprise, my hunch was correct and I ended up floating very gently back down to the ground. I conducted the same experiment about twelve other times, leaping off from increasingly greater heights, including the roof of McGucket Manor and the Gravity Falls water tower (much to Stanley and Fiddleford's combined ire.) I am happy to say that in all locations, the results were the same. I still don't know how much this thing is capable of supporting, but one thing's for sure. Open this up, jump off of something, and suddenly you're Mary Poppins. A little whimsical, but ultimately a very useful trait to have._ **

** _But trust me - if you plan to use it for this function, watch those wind currents and stick your landing. Ouch._ **

** _To put it mildly, Subject #665-C is very, very interesting. I have a feeling that it is capable of so much more, but for now, that's all I was able to gather from my findings._ **

** _Unfortunately, while learning about this weapon has brought me a lot of useful data, handling Subject #665-C every day for a month straight has come at an unexpected price._ **

\----------------------

Pausing in his writing, Ford sat back, scratching his unshaved cheek for a moment before looking around to make sure no one else was in the room with him.

Yes. He was alone.

Taking one last look over his shoulder, Ford rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and peeled off the gloves he had started wearing.

His hands, once so familiar to him in their uniqueness, were completely alien now. In the course of one month, they had turned a deep, inky black, as if Ford had dipped his arms into the void of space itself. The strange markings he had gained from his contact with the scythe went all the way up his forearms and ended just above his elbow, where there was a gradient of black, then grey, then his normal skin tone. Holding his hands up to the light, Ford turned them around to examine the back of his hands, wiggling his fingers and wincing at the way they seemed to suck up all light and color as he looked at them.

\----------------------

** _I still do not know what to make of this..._contamination_ on my arms. So far, everything about them has been mostly superficial, with the only other thing of note being that my hands apparently 'feel colder' to other people now. They don't wash off, they don't rub off - no cleaning agent I've used has done anything to help. I'm starting to wonder if they may be permanent._ **

** _I...would like to stop talking about Subject #665-C for now._ **

** _Before I finish this entry, there is one last artifact I must discuss. Admittedly, despite constant examination, experimentation and study, it remains the most mysterious of them all. It was more or less 'gifted' to my brother after a game of cards with an unknown man. My brother was not informed about where the object came from or what it could do upon his reception of the gift, and it is only through sheer luck, and memories of my own previous research, that I was able to recognize it and utilize its abilities when we needed them the most. I've heard many stories of such an artifact, and I've read several first and second-hand accounts dating all the way back to the 14th century describing an artifact whose description matches this item. But even with all that I've witnessed in my life and all that I know to be real, it still comes as a shock to know that something like this actually exists._ **

\----------------------

Sitting on the desk, just in front of Ford, was a small bell jar. Inside, lying innocently on a small pillow, was the final artifact.

Putting his pen down, Ford reached out and removed it from its spot, looking down at it thoughtfully as it rested in his hand. Flicking the lid open with a push of his thumb, Ford turned the lighter on, then off, then on again, before setting it down and picking up his pen once more.

\----------------------

** _"Subject #666 - "_ **

"Heya, Stanford - !"

"AAAH!"

Leaping up from the desk, Ford whirled around, brandishing his ray gun in one hand and the lighter in the other. "Who's there?!" he demanded. "Show yourself, woman!"

"Whoa!" Scuttling backward with his bad arm raised in surrender, Fiddleford H. McGucket looked up at Ford with a distressed look on his face. "Calm down there, Stanford! It's just me! It's just me." He held up the mug of steaming liquid in his other hand. "I was just bringing ya a fresh cup o' coffee."

"Fiddleford. Oh." Lowering both weapons, Ford walked up to him, hastily hiding his hands behind his back and stammering in embarrassment. "I-I-I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to - ! Y-you just...!" He looked away, his face hot as he cleared his throat. "You...startled me."

"Uh, yep," laughed Old Man McGucket good-naturedly. "I reckon I did." Taking a good long look at Ford, his smile faded, and he placed the cup of coffee on the desk. "On second thought, maybe I should go and make you some lavender tea instead. You don't look so good, old buddy." He tilted his head sideways. "Is...everything alright?"

"I'm fine," answered Ford, shoving his blackened hands in his pockets. "I'm just..." He looked around awkwardly. "Just a little busy with research."

McGucket turned around and cast a glance over his lab, taking note of the shawl and the umbrella sitting in their bell jars and the mess of notes and scribbles plastered all over the walls. "Hmm," he mused, contemplating the chalkboard of equations on the far wall. "You know," he began, "The last time I saw you this wrapped up in research...there was a demon in your head."

Ford froze.

With his back turned to Ford, McGucket walked over to the wall and flicked the lights on. Ford blinked a little at the sudden brightness, and suddenly, the wooden walls and brass gears of the lab came into full view. Bottles and beakers of various sizes were lined up neatly all along the walls and shelves, filled with everything from herbs and spices to volatile chemicals, and the smell of oil, dust and books hung heavy in the air. Everything about the lab in the basement of McGucket Manor felt like home to Ford. Something in the wooden bookshelves and cozy lighting gave the entire space a warm, welcoming vibe.

And yet, he felt very cold.

As McGucket continued to speak, Ford shifted around uncomfortably, keeping his face even as he listened to what his friend had to say.

"It was back when you were working with Bill." McGucket's tone was light but serious as he walked back to Ford, his steps echoing on the dark stone beneath their feet. "I remember seeing the way you worked back in those days and being so...surprised. _And_ impressed. Maybe even a little, eh, jealous. You made new discoveries, rewrote history. It was like there was a fire inside of you, chasing away all your fears and insecurities and whatnot. Like you just _knew_ that all your crazy notions and theories were all true, and nothing could hold you back from provin' them. You weren't afraid of anything and you weren't stopping for no one!" Fiddleford laughed at the memory, sitting himself on a stool near Ford. "It was amazin'."

His smile fell.

"...Until it wasn't."

There was a beat of silence between the two men as Ford watched McGucket reminisce on times long gone. The atmosphere in the lab had shifted, and as it slowly became too much to bear, Ford swallowed and averted his gaze, clearing his throat in an effort to alleviate the imposing quiet. Finally, the shorter man sighed and set his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes low. His voice was gentle, but his words were clear as a bell. "You weren't stoppin' for no one back then, Stanford. You worked all day, and then all night, and then all day again. Sometimes you'd go without sleep for darn near a week, maybe more, and there were times you passed out because you kept forgettin' to eat, or drink water, or just let yourself _breathe_ for a minute. It was...scary," he confessed with a wince. "And you better believe it was damn hard to stomach, especially for the people who cared about you. But every time I tried to talk to you about it, or maybe knock some sense into your head so you'd step back and give yourself a break, you'd look me in the eyes and...and it wasn't _you_ who was talking back to me."

McGucket looked up at Ford, and the severity in his pale blue eyes was like a bolt of lightning through Ford's chest. "I'm your _friend,_ Stanford. We've known each other for forty-odd years, and we've been together through good times and bad. I know you. And I know that somethin's wrong. Somethin's...really, really wrong." He stood up off his stool and placed a gentle hand on Ford's shoulder, the corners of his mouth curving upwards in a small smile. "Whatever's eatin' away at you, you can talk to me about it. I just - " He sighed. "I don't want you to be consumed by this crazy, supernatural business again. I'm...scared for you, is all."

Ford's eyebrows flew up at the sincerity in his friend's voice, but he remained silent, looking everywhere around the lab but at McGucket. After another long pause, McGucket sagged in disappointment, his smile fading. "...You still ain't gonna tell me nothin', are you?" he asked. "You...you ain't even gonna stop."

In Ford's pocket, he held Subject #666 tightly in his grip. And as he ran a thumb over the symbol carved into the metal, Ford let out a long breath through his nose and turned back to face his old partner. "I can't stop," he said at last. "And I can't...I dragged you into the darkness once before, Fiddleford. And you got hurt because of me. I'm not going to - " He paused, licking his lip before continuing. "I _WON'T_ do that to you again. You're one of the most brilliant, noble minds I've ever met, and I trust you with my life - but I will never, as long as I live, put you at risk just to further my goals ever again."

"Stanford, if them goals o' yours are so dangerous, then maybe you shouldn't - "

"I have to!" Face tinged with sorrow, Ford looked down at his friend and shook his head. "This work? It's not about me. It never was. And if things don't go right, I won't be the one who'll suffer the consequences. That's why I can't give up, or slow down, or take a break. If I do, I might fail."

Thinking of the corruption in his arms, Ford let out a breath, his eyes and voice as sharp as knives.

"And that can't happen. So that's why I have to do this. I have to continue this research, even if it kills me."

That sentence hung in the air like a plume of rancid, dark smoke, taking McGucket's breath away and leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. For a moment, McGucket opened his mouth to speak, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of anything to use as a response to Ford's words. In the end, he stepped back and gave his friend a simple nod of understanding. "Have it your way," he sighed. "Just...promise me one thing?"

Ford stiffened as McGucket narrowed his eyes at him in a cold, firm glare.

"No matter what happens, don't get in over your head again. Every action we take in life - they're a gamble, in one way or 'nother." His voice hardened. "All I ask is that you don't take too big of a risk. If it comes time to fold 'em, then you FOLD 'EM. _Do I make myself clear?"_

Despite the height difference between them, Ford suddenly felt dwarfed by his old friend. After a moment or two of thought, he nodded slowly. "Yes," he said quietly. "I understand. I promise, I won't...I won't let this whole business get out of hand."

"Good. I'm holdin' you to that."

Seemingly satisfied, McGucket began to scuttle out of the lab, keeping his posture straight as he did so. But before he could make it to the door, the shorter man paused and looked back. "Stanford, I know what you're doing means the world to you, and...well...I guess I gotta respect that. For now anyways. But I just gotta ask - Do you _know_ what time it is?"

"Huh?" Taken off-guard by the question, Ford blinked and shook his head with a puzzled expression. "Uh, no, I don't believe so." Turning around to pull his gloves back on without his friend's eyes on him, he gave a causal shrug and began to walk over to some chemicals on the shelf. "It should be almost noon, right? If this is about lunch plans, I'll just take mine here, you and the others can go grab something from Greasey's - "

_"Noon?"_ Slapping a palm to his forehead in exasperation, Old Man McGucket threw up his hands. "Stanford, you ol' fool! This business has gone ta your head! It's almost five o'clock!"

_"What?!_ OW!"

Rubbing his head where he'd banged it up against a nearby pipe, Ford whirled around and looked at the clock on the far wall in horror. "It can't be - is it really five o'clock already?!"

"Them kids o' yours 'll be here at six!" cried McGucket . "That's what Stan said! You better get movin', or we'll be late!"

"Oh, my gosh, oh my gosh!" Now in panic mode, Ford slammed his journal shut and began to scramble around for his belongings, catching sight of himself in the reflection of a nearby cabinet. "I-I-I can't pick them up like this, I gotta go take a shower!"

_"Shower?!"_ Watching his friend whizz around the room like a bullet, McGucket scoffed and tried to reason with him. "Stanford, come on! We gotta go!"

"Two minutes!" huffed Ford. "Just give me two minutes, that's all I ask, I _swear_ I'll be ready!" Turning around to grab two very important items from their spots, Ford rushed past his old friend and began to race up the stairs. "Tell Stan I'll meet him outside in the car! If we leave by 5:15, we should be able to make it to the bus station with time to spare!"

"W-w-wait, slow down there!" Scrambling to keep up, McGucket growled in frustration as his friend left him in his dust. "Stanford Pines!"

"See you soon!"

Watching his catastrophe of a best friend disappear into the distance, McGucket shook his head and sighed deeply with a mixture of exasperation and warmth in his voice. "Some things never change."

\--------------------------------------------

At the front of McGucket Manor, just a quarter after five, Stan Pines opened a fresh pack of cigarettes with a weary frown on his face.

Dressed in his nicer clothes, he leaned up against the trunk of the Stanmobile with a matchbook in hand. Within moments, he was taking in drag after drag of smoke, letting the nicotine wash over him and soothe his troubled mind. Ever since he came back from Ireland, he'd taken up his oldest vice - Crossroads brand cigarettes. After years of staying away from the things, Stan had been polishing off two, even three packs a day for almost a month straight. Chain-smoking was, admittedly, a habit he shouldn't have fallen back into. It was too high of a price for his wallet, not to mention his health, and at the end of the day, the tobacco did nothing to drown out the guilt or regrets that waited just below the surface of his daily thoughts.

But even so, he found himself falling back into this all-too-familiar sin, more and more, every day.

He had smoked like this when he a teenager disowned by his family in 1972.

He had smoked like this during his ten years on the run, when his luck would fluctuate from week to week and the only thing that could carry him to his next destination was a fresh nicotine fix.

He had smoked like this after losing Ford to the portal in 1982.

And he had smoked like this after New Year's Eve, in the year 1989.

Squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to block out painful, shadowy memories, Stan sighed, finished his cigarette, and flicked it away, crushing the cinders beneath his heel. With slow, careful movements, he laid his hand on the black sunhat that rested on the Stanmobile just beside him, stroking it gently and finding comfort in the feel of the soft fabric beneath his fingers.

"Hey, Stan."

A voice broke through Stan's thoughts, and he hastily stood back up, hiding the hat behind his back as he did. "W-w-what?"

Choosing not to comment on the private moment he'd interrupted, Tate McGucket politely cleared his throat and met his eyes again. "Dad says it's time to hightail it on out of here. You, uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "You ready to get going?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, sure."

While Tate pretended to look away, Stan turned, opened the trunk of the car, and stashed the hat inside in a spot where it wouldn't get hurt by anything else he'd packed there. "Let's shake a leg," he said gruffly, lighting himself a fresh cigarette. "We're cuttin' it pretty close as it is."

"You sure you got everything?" asked Tate, as they walked around the car. "Camera?"

"Yep."

"Sodas?"

"Yep."

"Plates? Utensils? Napkins."

"Taken care of."

"Hmm." Tate looked up at the sky, mentally going down a checklist. "What about the - "

"Hey, Tater Tot!" sighed Stan, looking over his shoulder. "Relax, would ya?"

His eyes were hidden by the brim of his baseball cap, but there was a clear twitch of annoyance in the other man's face. _"It's Tate."_

"Yeah, yeah!" said Stan dismissively, sticking his cigarette back in his mouth. "Look, everything we need is already right back there in the trunk! Okay? We're golden! Now," he said, looking up at the mansion. "Where's that maniac brother of mine?"

As if on cue, there was a loud cry overhead, and the two men looked up to see none other than Stanford Pines himself rushing out of a window, sliding down the roof tiles and parkour-ing his way down the walls and buttresses of the estate. Finally, he leapt up into the air and opened up Subject #665-C, floating down to the ground with surprising grace and landing on the roof of the El DIablo triumphantly. "I'm here," he panted, closing the 'umbrella.' "I'm here, I'm not late, I'm here!"

Stan went rigid at the sight of the object in his hands, and beside him, Tate sighed loudly, running a hand down his face. _"Please don't do that, Mr. Pines,_" he begged. "You're just gonna give Dad ideas."

From overhead, there was a loud burst of screaming and wild laughter, and within moments, McGucket had joined Ford on the roof of the El DIablo as well, sticking the landing with a proud pose. "Too late!" he said cheerfully.

Tate groaned and immediately began to bicker with his father, helping him onto the ground and chiding him on being far too old for such theatrics and not needing to risk himself. McGucket huffed and made a show of being annoyed at his son's overprotectiveness, but there was a telltale smile playing at the corner's of his mouth as they argued.

However, neither of the other two men were paying attention to this.

Ford jumped off of the car and grinned at his twin, throwing his arms up expectantly for a hug. Stan didn't move, glaring down at Subject #665-C with a pale, almost offended look on his face. "What're you doing with that thing?" he muttered.

Ford's smile fell, and he sighed and moved past Stan, trying to hide his disappointment.

Stan watched him go with a frown. "Hey," he barked, "I asked you a question!" Grabbing him by the shoulder, Stan whirled Ford around and held him close, growling under his breath through gritted teeth. "What the HELL do you think you're doing bringing that fuckin' thing along today?!"

"I don't have a choice!" muttered Ford, matching Stan's glare. "If I leave Subject #665-C unguarded, even for a minute, - !"

"Subject what now?"

"Sub - ugh." With a roll of his eyes, Ford shoved his brother away and held the umbrella close. "This umbrella! It's too much of a liability to leave it by itself. For the last time, I'm not letting this thing out of my sight."

"You're playin' with fire, Sixer," muttered Stan. Taking a step back, he eyed the umbrella with a mixture of wariness and fear. "I told you before, you shouldn't be handlin' that thing. Who knows what could happen?"

"Stanley, please, I assure you, it's perfectly safe."

_"Nothing_ about that thing is safe, Sixer."

"I understand your concern, but it'll be okay - "

"It's 'okay' for you to carry that thing wherever you go?! It's OKAY for you to spend twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week with that in your hands?!" Stan scoffed and shoved his brother angrily. "You're obsessed!"

"No, I'm NOT! Why does everyone keep saying that?!" Ford shoved him back just as hard, fire in his eyes. "Would you please just stop this?! I DON'T want to have this argument right now!"

"Uh...y'all okay?"

Flushing a few shades of red, Stan and Ford glanced over at the McGuckets, just now realizing how loud they'd been arguing. Stan averted his eyes, taking in another drag of nicotine. Clearing his throat, Ford gave them a weak, unconvincing smile. The two men raised their eyebrows and said nothing, talking to each other in low voices as they got into the Stanmobile.

Letting out a sigh, Ford reached out and touched his twin on the shoulder. "Listen, I know we don't see eye to eye on this issue. But Stanley...it's a special day. Can we please just get through this together? For the twin's sake. What do you say?" He raised his hand with a shy grin. "High six?" he asked hopefully.

Stan glanced at his hand for a moment, then back at him for a long, long time, before walking silently past him, ignoring his brother's hand. Without another word, Stan got into the driver's seat and began to start up the car, pointedly avoiding looking at Ford as he did so.

Drooping sadly, Ford sighed and entered the Stanmobile from the passenger's side. With great care, he placed the Reaper's umbrella by his feet, and as he squeezed the handle with gloved hands, he tugged his sleeves down to hide the ominous black flesh just beneath.

\------------------------------

"There's a parking space right there."

"Huh?" Jolting out of his thoughts, Stan followed Tate's finger...and shook his head. "Nah," he answered. "Too narrow. If we park there, there's no way we'll ever get out of the car."

"Hmm..." Pressing his face up against the window, McGucket peered around the streets. "What about that one?" he asked, pointing to a spot by the sidewalk.

"Yeesh, under that tree?" groaned Stan. "Nuh-uh. I don't think so. I just had my baby washed, like, _yesterday!_" He drove past the open spot with a huff. "The last thing I need is birds shittin' all over my El Diablo."

Glaring at his twin with a look of absolute "DONE" on his face, Ford silently pointed a thumb over his shoulder at another spot.

Stan followed his line of sight, slowing down next to the opening while the other men waited for his answer with matching frowns on their faces. "....Eh. It's kind of a long walk - "

_"STAN!"_ they chorused.

"All right, all right, jeez!" Screeching into the spot, Stan turned off the ignition and pouted. "There, you happy?" As he stepped out of the car, he bent down and adjusted his collar in the mirror. "How much time do we got?"

"Twenty minutes," answered Ford. "But there's a decent probability that they made it here early."

"Nope. Still not here yet."

As they got out of the car, the men looked up at the sound of the voice, and a rare smile split across Ford's face. "Ah! Wendy!"

"Hey, Ford! Hey, Stan! McGuckets." Swaggering over to the men with a tip of her pine tree hat, Wendy brushed back a lock of red hair with an appraising grin. "It's about time you guys showed up." She crossed her arms and gave Stan a stern, but playful, look. "Cuttin' it pretty close there, don't you think?"

"Hey, we got here, didn't we?" grumbled Stan.

Wendy snorted and shook her head at him, and as Fiddleford and his son started to take things out from the trunk, a crowd of familiar faces came walking over to them. Three young girls stood together with signs in their hands, two of them chatting happily to one another while the third fidgeted nervously with a blush on her face. Behind them, a couple held hands as they rushed over to Stan. "'Sup, Mr Pineses!" chirped Soos.

"It's good to see you!" said Melody, hugging the brothers. "We were starting to worry you wouldn't make it!"

"Sorry we kept you waiting," said Stan, hugging her back with a smile. "So, we ready for the Homecoming party tonight?"

"You know it!" replied Melody. "Soos and I got the Shack all decorated, we got balloons, we got a piñata, we got Gravity Fall's best DJ - " She paused to motion to her fiancé, who struck a pose in turn. " - And Abuelita Ramirez made some of her famous enchiladas."

"Yes, yes," said Abuelita Ramirez, knitting on a bench nearby. "The children will be so happy."

Ford chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, you've certainly all been working very hard for tonight. We appreciate it."

"Yeah," agreed Stan, "We couldn't pull this off without you guys."

"AW! I'm so _EXCITED!"_ shouted Grenda, scaring off the raven in a nearby tree. "Mabel's gonna be SO happy to see us! I can't wait to see her face when she sees that the entire town came to welcome them back!"

"Me neither," said Candi, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "This party is going to be a lot of fun!"

As Soos, Melody and the brothers got into a conversation about party plans for later that evening, Candi caught sight of the worried look on Pacifica's face as she looked down at the sign in her hands. It was a bright vibrant blue, framed with dozens of plastic jewels around the edges of the paper. A large white pine tree sat in the middle of the sign, and around it in glittery purple letters were the words "Welcome Home Dipper."

As Pacifica tilted it his way and that in the light of the afternoon sun, she bit her lip nervously. Candi watched her for a moment or two before clearing her throat and speaking up. "Pacifica?"

Jolting out of her troubled thoughts, Pacifica turned pink and clutched the sign to her chest. Candi gave her a shy, uncertain smile. "Are you nervous about seeing Dipper again?"

"W-What?!" Sputtering in an uncharacteristically undignified fashion, Pacifica turned a deep scarlet and turned away. "No! Of course not! Don't be stupid, Chiu!"

Candi wilted from Pacifica's stinging words, but said nothing. Pacifica hugged her sign to her chest, looking at her feet until someone placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and Wendy looked back at her, raising her eyebrow and giving her a look. Even so, she squeezed Pacifica's shoulder comfortingly, and the young blonde took in a deep breath in and out before she turned back to the other girls. "S....sorry," she stuttered, keeping her voice low as she looked at Candi. "That wasn't...n-necessary. I'm just...a little on edge right now, okay?!" Looking down at her sign, Pacifica brushed off some stray glitter, her jaw set. "I worked really, really hard on this stupid thing, and..." She seemed to shrink into herself at that moment. "If Dipper doesn't like it - "

"Pssht! Come on, Pacifica, lighten up!" said Wendy, punching her lightly in the shoulder. "It's awesome! Dipper's gonna love it."

"Y-you...really think so?" Pacifica asked shyly, glancing up at her.

_"Yeah!"_ shouted Grenda, flashing her a smile. "Of course! He LOVES the color blue! And pine trees! It's like, his motif!"

"And everyone knows all boys like shiny things," added Candi, looking down at the jewels on the paper. "It's not stupid. It's really pretty." She smiled at the blonde as well, adjusting her glasses as she did. "You did a very good job."

"G-great!" stammered Pacifica, still not quite used to being surrounded by so many honest smiles all at once. "T-that's great. I'm...I'm glad. Ahem!" Clearing her throat and flipping her hair, she stuck her nose in the air, sinking back into her arrogant facade once more. "S-so when is this stupid bus gonna get here?!" Her mouth curved into a pout as she glared up at the Bus Station sign over her head. "We've been waiting for over an hour!"

"_CHILL,_ P," answered Wendy with a roll of her eyes. "We've still got twenty more minutes until it's supposed to get here. And even then, it's not an exact science." Turning around, she looked down the road for a moment or two, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed into the distance. "The buses sometimes run late if there's, like, car problems or traffic or whatever."

"Well, it better get here soon," said Stan, appearing next to her with crossed arms. "It's kind of warm today, and that cake ain't gonna hold up forever."

"Yeah, shouldn't you take that thing outta the trunk?" asked Wendy, turning back to the Stanmobile. "Maybe we should give it some air, so the icing won't run."

"Huh," pondered Stan, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. Hey, McGucket!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Can you bring the cake out of there and put it on the hood or somethin'?"

"Uh, sure!" called McGucket, fidgeting nervously. "There's, uh, just one problem."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"...It ain't here."

Stan stiffened. "What?"

"The cake. It ain't in here."

Brows furrowed in confusion, Stan jogged over to the trunk of the Stanmobile. After looking at each other for a moment, the others followed suit, watching as Stan dug around the interior of his car. "No," he muttered, his panic growing by the second. "No, no, no! No, it's gotta be in here! I swear I put it in here!"

"It's not there, Stan! We already checked three times!" Groaning in frustration, Tate slapped a palm to his forehead. "Dang it, Stan, you said you got everything!"

"I thought I did!"

"Well, obviously, you didn't, Stanley!"

Nudging his brother aside, Ford looked inside the trunk. "Did you leave it back at the mansion?!"

"I - I DON'T KNOW?! I guess?!" Cursing under his breath in frustration, Stan clapped a hand over his face. "Agh, I must have left it on the kitchen counter!"

"Unbelievable! You bring THIS along, but you couldn't remember your niece and nephew's own cake?!"

Stan looked up, coming face-to-face with Ford, glaring angrily at him as he held something up in his free hand. Stan gulped and went red at the sight of the black sunhat, glancing around at everyone's questioning expressions before stepping forward and snatching it out of Ford's hands. "L-look, I screwed up, okay?!" he admitted. "But don't worry, I'm gonna fix this!"

"Wh - ...Stan, where are you going?"

Everyone watched as Stan swung around the car and hopped into the driver's seat, starting up the ignition as he talked. "Where does it look like I'm goin', Ford?" Meeting the other's eyes in the mirror, he gave them all a shy wave and a shaky smile. "H-hang on, guys, everything's gonna be okay! I'll go grab it, it won't take long - !"

"Wha - ?! Mr. Pines, wait!"

"What, are you nuts?!"

"You can't go now!"

"Stan, the kids'll be here any minute!"

"I know," answered Stan. "And that's why HE'S staying here."

Everyone followed his line of sight, staring at the bewildered expression on Ford's face. "Ford, I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to take over for me while I'm gone."

"'G-gone?!'" Shaking his head, Ford stepped closer. "But Stanley - !"

"But nothin'!" interrupted Stan. "Make sure the kids get off the bus, okay? Dipper and Mabel gotta have at least ONE Grunkle lookin' out for them!" Turning around, Stan prepared to pull out, keeping an eye out for any pedestrians behind him as he did. "Listen, it's too long of a drive to get back here in time, but I'll be here as soon as I can, okay?!"

"Stanley! WAIT!" Stumbling over to the driver's window, Ford grabbed Stan's arm. "I'm coming with you!"

"What?! No way!" Stan gave him a look as he pulled himself out of his brother's grip. "I told ya, the kids need you here - !"

"But you're gonna be all alone!"

"Yeah, so what?!"

"So what?! So, what if you need my HELP, Stanley?! What if you run into a 'PROBLEM' on your way?"

"I - !" A choked sound came from Stan's throat, eyes widening in revelation, and he shook his head to collect himself before speaking. "Is _that_ what this is about?! Did you think I forgot about her? Look, Sixer, I'm just as scared as you are! Believe me, I am! But for Chrissakes, I'm a grown man! You don't gotta babysit me like this!"

"I'm not BABYSITTING you, you knucklehead, I'm doing what I need to do to _keep you safe!"_

"Ever since we got back from Ireland, you've either been holed up in that lab or breathin' down my neck! I'm SICK of it! I wish I never got you involved in this! If I had known this is what it would do to you - " Stan's voice cracked and he snarled in frustration. "You know, sometimes I wish - sometimes I wish you'd start acting NORMAL again! I'd give anything for things to go back to the way they were before this crap - !"

**_"I'M NOT GOING TO LOSE YOU AGAIN!"_**

The sheer panic in Ford's voice seemed to freeze time itself.

Somewhere in the bushes, a fox skittered away from something, and Soos, Melody, and the others all looked around at each other, unable to think of anything to say. Then, taking one last look at the crestfallen expression in his old friend's face, McGucket hopped onto a nearby trash can and grinned down at the three girls. "Hey, kids! You wanna bet how fast it'll take me to turn one o' these cars into a mechanical swan boat?!"

And with that, he took off running into the parking lot, cackling loudly as he went.

"W-wait! McGucket!" Pacifica rushed after him, nearly dropping her sign as she went. "Hold up, you can't just do that!"

"DAD!" shouted Tate, following after her, and soon, the entire crowd of others had left with him, leaving Stan and Ford all alone in the midst of their personal crisis.

Stan watched his brother try to collect his breath, his expression softening at the sight of the wetness in the corners of Ford's eyes. Reaching out to him, he took Ford's hand in his, the gentle gesture catching Ford's attention. "Hey," whispered Stan. "It's okay, Sixer. Really. It's gonna be okay. I know you're scared. And I know that everything you're puttin' yourself through is for my sake. And it means a lot to me that you'd stand by me even after...even after everything that I told you. But...you gotta stay here." Squeezing Ford's hand, Stan gave him a warm smile. "I can take care of myself. Don't worry. I'll be _right_ back. You won't even know I'm gone. I'll be fine, Ford. I promise. But you gotta let me go."

Swallowing thickly, Ford looked down at their hands and nodded, squeezing back and sighing. "Okay," he murmured. "But on one condition."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

Ford reached into his pocket and pressed something firmly into the palm of Stan's open hand. As soon as he felt the cool metal on his skin, Stan knew what it was, and his heart stopped when he realized what it was he was holding.

"You're taking Dante's Flame with you," said Ford, his face grim. "No excuses. If anything happens, use it." He tilted his head at Stan. "You...you remember what I taught you?"

Letting out a steady breath through his nose, Stan glanced down at Subject #666 and nodded. "Yeah. I remember."

"Good. If anything happens - "

"Ford, I GOT it! Yeesh! You're like a broken record!"

Stuffing the lighter within the depths of his jacket, Stan cricked his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders back. "I'll see ya soon, okay, Sixer?"

"Goodbye, Stanley," said Ford. "Good luck."

Stan glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned to shoot him a finger gun, a grin and a wink. And with that, he put the car in reverse, pulled out of the parking space and drove off into the distance.

Ford watched him go, a sense of unease creeping over his shoulder as he gripped the umbrella handle tightly. Already, he could feel regret pooling at the bottom of his stomach, and his heart beat quickly in his chest as he tried to steady his breaths and convince himself that he had done the right thing.

Beside him, a moth crawled down the bark of a nearby tree. Ford glanced at it, the sight of the creature sending ugly memories back to the surface and making his anxiety rise even more. The insect took off, flying into the breeze - 

And then a flash of red streaked across Ford's vision, and it was gone.

Jumping a little and tightening his grip on the umbrella out of instinct, Ford blinked in surprise at the small red fox that had appeared out of nowhere, watching as it crunched the moth between its teeth and swallowed it happily before looking over to him. It had the most peculiar eyes - the left a coppery golden-brown, the right a cold, icy blue. In the back of Ford's mind, he heard the voice of his old science teacher from Glass Shard Beach, something about heterochromia iridis, and how it was more prevalent in animals than in humans. The fox with mismatched eyes inspected him curiously, staring at Ford as if he was the most important thing in the world. Glancing around for a moment or two, Ford looked back at the creature, waiting for something to happen.

He wasn't sure why, but it felt like something - something important - was about to happen.

But then, something came fluttering out of the trees and perched itself on a nearby sign. "CAW," it said.

Ford raised his eyebrow at the very large raven that was peering over at him, looking from him to the fox with great interest. It took Ford a moment for it to realize it, but the bird was missing its left leg. The one-legged raven flew down from the sign, hopping on the concrete over to Ford, where it cocked its head at the umbrella he held before turning around and taking off into the sky.

Ford's eyes followed it as it left, brow furrowing as he watched it fly in the direction of the McGucket mansion. Some of its feathers came fluttering down like snowflakes as it left, and Ford caught one in his hand, inspecting it curiously before turning to the fox.

"Why do I get the feeling," he asked slowly, "That something is about to go terribly wrong?"

The fox didn't answer.

But just before it turned and disappeared into the underbrush, it looked back at Ford, gave him a wink, and bared its teeth in a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! It's your bird Sunbird, and I just wanna give a big Thank You to all of the people that have left their kudos or kind words on my fic so far! It's those little things that help keep me motivated to continue writing this crazy fic, so if you're reading this, know that I appreciate you and your support like a lot. Like, a LOT.
> 
> Thank you for giving this fic a chance, and as always, thank you for reading!


	6. She Wants Me Dead (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Woke up this morning with a gun to my head,
> 
> Somebody help me, she wants me dead,
> 
> Woke up this mornin' with the Devil in my bed,
> 
> In the air, everywhere, in my veins and in my head..."
> 
> \---------------------------
> 
> "She Wants Me Dead", by Cazette
> 
> \----------------------

"Alright. Alright, let's get going."

Closing the trunk of the El Diablo with a satisfied nod, Stan breathlessly rushed back into the car and started the ignition. With a loud SCREECH, he pulled out in reverse, knocked over a large stone angel, and drove away, tires squealing down the driveway. McGucket Manor disappeared from the rearview mirror, and soon, Stan found himself navigating the winding forest roads back into town, surrounded by pine trees and wilderness. Sweating up a storm, he glanced at the clock on the dashboard and sagged in disappointment. Even if he drove as fast as he possibly could - which, on these roads, was a stupid idea in and of itself - he would still be around a half an hour late to the station. At the very least, he'd get there twenty minutes after Dipper and Mabel's bus already arrived. Grunting in frustration, Stan wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and grumbled. "Jeez," he wheezed bitterly. "I'm too old and too out of shape to still be pulling this crap. I'm in my sixties for cryin' out loud. Forgettin' the cake AND showin' up late on the twin's big day? _Christ on a bike._ You'd think I'd have my act together by now, right, Babe?"

No answer.

For one brief second, Stan's eyes flicked sideways to look at something over to his right, and he opened his mouth to speak. But soon, he was shaking his head and staring out into the road again. "Never mind," he muttered, pulling at his collar self-consciously. "N-Never mind, f-forget it. It's stupid."

No answer.

The next few minutes were completely silent, with Stan forcing himself to pay attention to the road, biting his lip in defiance of what was waiting in the back of his mouth. But soon, like a dam bending to the will of a powerful river, he found himself speaking once more as the words came flooding out. "You know," he mused quietly, "My old man told me somethin' once. It was back when I was, what, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old? Or maybe it was more like sixteen or seventeen. 'S hard to put an exact year to it since...y'know..._Cipher._" He spat the name out like a curse. "And I ain't TOO sure, but I think it was only the one time Dad ever called me somethin' like that. But...even with what went down last year with the Memory Gun...I still haven't forgotten what he said to me."

No answer.

Stan sighed, his body language loosening as he gazed thoughtfully out at the road. "I messed up..._somehow._ I think it was somethin' big, too. I can't remember what exactly I did, though. But whatever it was...well...it really set him off. Dad, I mean." His eyes grew weary, and a sad sort of smile crept across his face as he imitated his father's voice. _"'You're a natural disaster, Stanley Pines! You're like a hurricane, or a flash flood, or a forest fire in human frickin' form! No matter what you do, no matter what's at stake, you always just come out of nowhere and screw everything up for everyone else! All you do is hurt people, ya knucklehead! You're one big mess, and that's all you'll ever be!'"_ Stan chuckled, but his laughter rang hollow, and the discomfort on his face was undeniable. "Guess...guess he was right after all. My number's almost up, and...and I still can't do things right."

Smiling sadly, he looked back over to his side again and shrugged. "Some things never change, huh, Babe?"

No answer.

A long stretch of silence followed his words, and the false smile slowly slid off his face. "I...this ain't the first time we've talked about this, is it?" Stan asked slowly, his eyes suddenly lost.. "We've...we've done this before."

No answer.

Stan's face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to focus, realization dawning on his face. "We have," he murmured. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right. It's comin' back to me now." He leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep breath as the memory floated up to the surface of his mind. "It was a summer night back in 1987. Or...'86? The hottest night of the year. Fireflies and crickets everywhere. Real quiet. Real peaceful. We were lying in bed after foolin' around, just shootin' the breeze about this and that, and we started talking about family. And I started telling you about my Dad. And...and I told you what he said to me." He shrugged. "I...was tryin' to be funny about it, you know? Thought it'd crack you up, make you laugh, but...but you _didn't_ laugh. You got real quiet. And I got real scared."

The passenger in the seat beside him offered no comment, but Stan wasn't waiting for one. He was too lost in the past, his gaze wistful as he remembered that distant July evening. "You...you gave me this _look_, and I didn't know what to do. I thought I pissed you off somehow, you know? Killed the mood or...or ruined our night. And I was gettin' ready to say sorry and talk about somethin' else. But then you got close to me...and...and you hugged me real tight. And you looked me in the eye - shit, I'd never seen you so serious before. And then you told me...you told me that he was wrong." Stan paused, swallowing thickly with emotion. "And then I cried. I cried like a damn baby. Because all my life, I'd been waiting for someone to tell me those words. And...and I never realized it until I met you."

No answer.

"....Hmmph."

Sagging in exasperation, Stan tore his wandering gaze away from his passenger and shook his head. "Why am I...Tch. What am I _doin',_ thinkin' about that night right now? Jeez. I must be outta my goddamn mind." Exhaling through his nose, he reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I'm losin' it. I'm really losin' it. My memory's....I got HOLES in it, you know? Sometimes it's days that are missin', sometimes months, mostly years - it's all screwed up to Hell and back, Honey. All of it. And whatever pieces I do have left, whatever's still in here - " He paused to tap his head. " - It runs together real weird. Time, dates...it don't make much sense anymore, you know? Not really. Or...not yet? And sometimes....t'be completely honest with you, Babe..." Stan sighed, a shadow of fear flickering across his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm gonna stay like this for however long I got left. Sometimes I think I'm really gonna die with those missing pieces still lost. And once I'm gone, well...they're gone with me, and there ain't no gettin' them back. But even with half a brain in my head, even with the deal bein' called off, even when I SHOULD be thinking about spendin' whatever time I got left making new memories with Ford and the kids...even then...I remembered _you."_

Still no answer.

Gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, Stan let out a deep breath and anxiously glanced at his silent passenger.

The large black sunhat sat innocently on the bench seat of the Stanmobile, innocuous and plain in the light of the golden summer afternoon. But the more Stan stared at it, the more it seemed to stare back, boring a hole into him with a wordless accusation. It was unnerving, and very uncomfortable, but somehow, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't look away.

And then something happened. It might have been a fragment of a resurfacing memory. It might have been a trick of the light. It might have been the guilt that had been eating away at him for the past month. Or it might have been all three of those things. But for one heart-stopping moment, Stan thought he saw someone sitting next to him, leaning up against the window and looking out at the scenery of the Pacific Northwest. Pale green eyes that caught the light like stained glass. Blonde hair with white streaks, pulled back in a neat bun. Long, thick lashes and winged eyeliner. Lips like pomegranate seeds and the barest hints of wrinkles on an otherwise ageless face. Black hat. Black gloves. Black dress. Black everything.

And for one brief moment, the lovely specter looked over to him with wide eyes, caught off-guard by his gaze - and gave him a sweet, bashful smile in return.

But then he blinked, and she was gone.

Finally, Stan tore his eyes away from the hat and let out an angry grunt. "Thirty one years, Wings," he muttered to himself, straightening up in his seat. "That was the deal." His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "We _shook_ on it."

The hat, of course, didn't answer. And its silence only served to unsettle him even more.

Teeth grinding together in irritation, Stan huffed and looked in the rearview mirror as he tried to make a lane change. "This ain't my fault," he grumbled, glaring as the driver beside him sped up. "You hear me? _This ain't my fault._ I didn't do NOTHIN' wrong. I shouldn't feel guilty. I WON'T feel guilty. You got..._damn it, Wings!"_ He let out a growl of frustration and anger. "Y-You got no right to be making me feel like this! After everything you've done to me, you honestly think I should feel bad about what happened to you?!" Grimacing in defeat, Stan gave up on the lane change, watching the driver zoom past him and blare his horn angrily. Stan flipped them off in reply, grumbling something about big-city hipsters before turning his attention back to the hat. "We had a DEAL. You hear me? _We had a deal._ And then YOU had to go and call it off! _I don't believe you!_ Do you even understand what you were gonna take away from me?! Six months that I would have spent talking to the kids before I left them behind for good. Six months that I would have spent with FORD, after three decades of us not even bein' in the same UNIVERSE together! Six months o-of fishin', of monster huntin', the last summer of my life, the last holiday season of my life - my LIFE, Wings! My! _LIFE!_ And you were really gonna go through with it, weren't you?! Even when you felt bad about it, even when you KNEW something wasn't right, you were gonna stab me in the back, AGAIN!"

Boiling mad, Stan pounded his fist on the dashboard, ignoring the fresh burst of pain in his hand. "After everything we've been through, all the years we've known each other, you show up out of nowhere and try to take away all the things I worked so hard for, just like that, no warning, no questions, no apology, no _nothing?!_ Jesus, Wings, what is WRONG with you?! I thought you cared about me! For Chrissake, Wings, _I THOUGHT YOU LOVED - !"_

Faltering the moment he realized what was coming out of his mouth, Stan went still, and after a beat of silence, he swallowed back thick, unwanted emotions and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I....I thought I actually _meant_ something to you," he murmured sadly.

The hat said nothing. It simply stayed where it had always been, offering no comfort, no comment, and no explanation whatsoever.

Stan glanced at it for a moment, then shook his head, his expression hardening into something cold and bitter. "I don't owe you anything, Wings," he muttered icily. "Not a _goddamn_ thing. Not after the way you broke our promise...and not after the way you broke my heart."

There was a beat of silence, and for a while, the only thing Stan could hear was the engine of the Stanmobile under his feet and the pounding of his heart in his ears. But the longer it stretched on, the angrier he got, and the hat's presence went from somewhat uncomfortable to stifling and chafing. All it did was sit there on the bench seat, right where it had always been, but something about it made Stan feel like a caged animal, cornered and claustrophobic. It was an awful feeling, and it only seemed to intensify in the unyielding silence.

Finally, he gave up. Clenching his teeth in frustration, the car jerked to the left as Stan made his lane change and stepped on the gas, trying to beat the clock and make it to the bus station on time. "You didn't just break my heart, you know," he spat bitterly. "You _crushed_ it. You made me believe in something again - you made me WANT something I already gave up on a long, LONG time ago - just to rip it all out from under me in the worst way possible. That REALLY messed me up, you know?! It...it damn near killed me!" Eyes flashing with anger, Stan gripped the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turned white and his fingers went numb. "Do you have ANY idea what it was like after you left? Do you know how much it hurt? How many weeks I spent stayin' up all night, waitin' for you to come back home?! How scared I was, thinkin' that something might've happened to you? How many times I replayed every moment we spent together, wondering what it was I did or said that fucked it all up? I didn't know what to feel, what to think...I didn't know ANYTHING."

Stan paused, growing contemplative as his words began to sink in. The air in the car changed again, cooling down in a way that made it easier to breathe again. And yet, there was a heaviness in his chest that just wouldn't leave. The hat remained in its spot, but now it seemed as if it was listening to him, patiently waiting for him to regain his voice, yet also somehow prompting him to go on. His anger fading away, Stan sighed deeply, his voice hollow and broken. "I was a wreck, Babe. I was an honest-to-God WRECK. I started smokin' again, started drinkin' again, started sleepin' too much, forgot to eat, forgot about running the Shack. I...I just shut down Wings. I turned off for MONTHS after you left...and then you came back. And..." He gave the hat a half-hearted shrug, lowering his gaze as he shook his head. "And you never even apologized for ANY of it."

The hat did not answer. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Stan turned to look at it, the fury in his eyes fading into something pained and vulnerable. "You never really cared about me...did you?" Stan's brow furrowed in confusion, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and soft. "Why'd you have to string me along like that?" he asked sadly. "If you really didn't want me...then...why'd you even say 'yes'?"

Silence.

Stan stared at the sunhat for a very long time, waiting for an answer he knew would never come. Finally, with a look of pure rage, he turned away from it and glared out into the open road, his shoulders rigid and his nostrils flaring. "I hate you," he growled. "You hear me? _I hate you._ And if you're still out there, somewhere, listenin' to me right now...I want you to know that I ain't _never_ gonna forgive you for what you did. Not now, _not ever._ As far as I'm concerned, you were the third biggest mistake of my life. The science fair was the first. The portal was the second. But you?"

His lower lip trembled, and he let out a long steady breath, slumping over in his seat.

"...I was serious about you, you know."

Those words hung heavily in the air, an unwanted truth that hovered over him like cigarette smoke. And like cigarette smoke, the longer it hung over Stan, the harder it became for him to breathe. Grumbling under his breath, he reached out to the radio dial, turning it on in the hopes of drowning out any and all memories of the past with whatever music there was to be found on the local stations.

_"But the Colorado rocky mountain high,_

_I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky - "_

_ "AAAAAH!" _

Panic shot through his body as he hastily shut off the radio. The moment the all-too-familiar lyrics bled away, he came back to himself, breathing heavily. Wiping the cold sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve, he begin to fumble around for his cigarettes, shaking his head. "Sweet Moses, Wings," he muttered angrily. "You're everywhere. No matter what I do, where I turn, I can't get you out of my mind." He snorted. "'S kind of funny, in a sick, twisted kinda way. There's so many things I want to remember, but can't. But the one person I want to forget...she's still hauntin' me."

No answer.

Fumbling with his lighter, Stan lit himself a fresh cig, opening up the window and allowing the tobacco to soothe him for a few minutes in absolute silence. Finally, after an especially long drag, he breathed out a plume of smoke and groaned in defeat. "ALRIGHT. Alright. I give up," he confessed."I lied. I don't hate you, Baby Doll. I don't think I could EVER hate you. Maybe I just...I dunno...." He shrugged. "Maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe you _liked_ me, but you just never _loved_ me. It's been years, and I can't remember EVERYTHING about the Eighties. Who knows if you really did or not?" He paused to take another drag. "Sweetheart, you ain't never been no liar, as far as I can tell. You're too classy for that. Too straight-laced. And even though you're stubborn as a mule, and also...you know...." Stan paused to gesture with his hands. "You KILL people for a livin'....I know for a fact that there ain't one mean bone in your body, Sugar. Not one. You're GOOD, Wings. You're NICE. So....I think I did mean SOMETHIN' to you, but....maybe you...maybe I...aw, jeez."

Stan sighed and breathed out more smoke, the hat disappearing behind the hazy, rancid fog as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "Lookin' back on our relationship now....you never even TOLD me you loved me, not once, in all the time we were together. I should have picked up on that. Should have taken it more seriously. Maybe you didn't love me, but stayed with me because you didn't know how to let me down without breakin' my heart. Maybe you loved me at the beginning, but wised up and realized you could do better. I'm just guessing, I don't know. And now...now, I guess I'll never know. But, for what it's worth, Wings...I loved you." Sagging in his seat, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I loved the HELL outta you, Baby Doll. I still do. Even now. Even after all this crap."

Grunting in annoyance, Stan glanced at the hat again, quirking an eyebrow in irritation. "There. I said it. You happy?"

No answer.

Groaning in defeat, Stan slumped forward and broke down. "Look, I'm _SORRY,_ alright?! I know you got a big job to do, Reapin' souls, guidin' the dead - big, spooky, scary stuff that you can't take shortcuts for or get wrong! But Babe, _I couldn't go with you!_ I was - !" Stumbling over his words, Stan began to hyperventilate as his fears began to boil to the surface, falling out of his mouth in a breathless rush. "I was SCARED, Sweetheart! I was spooked outta my goddamned mind! I knew you'd be comin' for me this year, but I didn't - Christ, I didn't think you'd show up so _soon!_ And the moment I realized that I was gonna die without gettin' a chance to get the rest of my memories back - _it scared me shitless,_ Honey, it REALLY did! So I panicked! And I took your scythe! And I shouldn't have taken it that far, I admit it! But I swear, I SWEAR to you Wings, I _never_ meant for Ford to pull that stunt, and I NEVER wanted you to get hurt the way you did!"

Beside him, the hat remained silent and impassive. Some hot ash from Stan's forgotten cigarette landed on his hand, causing him to curse loudly and drop it out the window in surprise. Breathing unevenly, he sucked on the wound briefly before inspecting it. "It....i-it just sort of HAPPENED, alright?" he stuttered. "Ford came outta nowhere and he just....I couldn't stop him. Ford's...he's supposed to be a genius you know. But sometimes, he leaps before he looks, and it lands him in some serious hot water! My brother - " Stan shook his head and glanced back at the hat. "Y-y-you gotta understand, Honey, he's - he's _not_ a bad person! Far from it! He's the best damn person in the whole world, no matter how much crap he gives me! What you saw that night - it was just one side of him. He was scared. He thought you were gonna hurt me! Please...Wings, Baby, _please_ don't hate him for what he did. If...if he KNEW about you..."

Stan paused, sighing and turning his gaze to his reflection in the car's side mirror. After a while, he lit himself another cigarette and finished half of it before he spoke again. "Ford doesn't _know_ about us, Babe. I mean...he knows....but he doesn't _KNOW._ Your pheromones, and the booze...they didn't mix too well together. There's a lot he doesn't remember about that night. And to tell you the truth, Sugar...I didn't fill him in on _everything_ after the fact, either. And it ain't...it ain't because I'm ashamed of you, or what we were, or...what you mean to me....but...the less he knows..." Stan trailed off, his eyes darkening, and he turned back to the road with a distant gaze and a quiet voice. "...The less he knows, the better off he is," he finished solemnly. "The less he knows...the SAFER he is. There's a lot I don't want him to find out. About you. About the deal. About WHY I made it, and everything else that went down. If I play my cards right, he's never gonna find out about any of that. He...he CAN'T find out. I won't let him. I love him, Wings. Ford's my best friend, and I love him, and I worked too damn hard all these years to get him home in one piece just to throw him back into the fire after another one of my STUPID mistakes."

Bringing his fist down on the dashboard again, Stan's eyes burned intensely behind his glasses, two hot coals of fiery determination. "Sweetheart, I am NOT gonna put him in danger again. Even if it means I have to lie to his face, even if I have to end up confrontin' this alone in the end...I ain't lettin' Ford get involved in this. At least...any more than he already is. You understand, don't cha, Babe?"

Stan turned to the hat, his face solemn as he reached out and placed his hand on top of it. "I'd like to think that you would," he whispered gently.

A long stretch of silence filled the car, and after a while, Stan finished off his cigarette, lit up a third, and began to fiddle with the radio again. "...Ford took it pretty hard," he murmured absentmindedly, briefly listening to a Bobby Renzobbi ad before changing the station. "What went down last year, I mean. He had to do it. And I'm glad he did, because it saved us all. The world, the town, the kids - it saved everyone. But I ain't never been the same since. And he still hasn't forgiven himself for being the one who had to do it to me." Grimacing as _Straight Blanchin'_ began to play through the car, Stan shook his head and cycled through a few more stations as he continued to ramble. "I'm not angry with him. I mean, come on," he laughed with a shrug. "It was my idea in the first place. And I was more than ready to lose everythin' if it meant Dipper and Mabel would be safe. I don't hold NOTHIN' about that day against him, NOTHIN'. But Ford..."

Stan sighed deeply.

"You know," he began, "After we defeated Cipher, I was _blank._ But everyone around me, they did everything they could to remind me of who I was again. Dipper, Soos, Mabel, McGucket, even Wendy. And Ford?" A small smile lifted the corners of his lips. "Ford was the one who tried the hardest." Stan leaned back in his seat, watching the pine trees go by. "The week after it happened, he was right there, doin' everything he could think of to help me remember who I was. He found some old high school yearbooks, dug up Mom's photo albums, made food we used to eat when we were kids - somethin' about olfactory senses and how smells could trigger old memories ingrained deep in the human brain. Heh, he even sat down with me one night, showin' me home movies from when we were kids. We stayed up so late, we fell asleep together on the couch." His eyes softened, his smile warm. "I dreamt about him that night. Back when he was in high school. I dreamt about him, and Mom, and Dad, too. Even Shermie was there, back when he was still in diapers. It was the holidays, and we were sittin' in our old house back in New Jersey, opening up presents and laughin' together. And everythin' was perfect. Everyone was happy. It was _nice."_

Stan chuckled at the memory, but then his smile faded, and his face grew solemn. "Ford didn't stop there, you know. See, that's his problem - he's a smart guy, but he doesn't seem to know when to STOP. He's stubborn like that. Boneheaded, even. After summer ended, whenever we had some spare time in between monster huntin' and mystery solving, he'd research articles and papers on Alzheimer's patients, or amnesiacs in recovery. He looked up techniques on memory recall, asked for advice on how to help me retain what I still had....He just..." Stan shrugged. "He tried to find ways to help me get better, you know? All this time, he's been looking out for me. He's still looking out for me. And it means everything to me to know that he's got my back, but...it's really..." Stan shook his head, his voice strained. "It's really taken its toll on him. And it still is. Ever since last summer, he's felt responsible for me. He blames himself for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING - my memory, the portal, Dad kickin' me out. And now this. Now you. This whole business with you and me...Babe, Sugar, it's _killin'_ him. _I'm_ killin' him."

Face screwing up with emotion, Stan paused to defiantly wipe away the wetness at the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, steadying his breath as a flood of memories suddenly overtook him. Ford, standing in a parking lot, too terrified to let him out of his sight. Ford, pacing back in forth in some lab, scribbling things down in his Journal and ignoring McGucket's pleas to go to bed. Ford, throwing his arms around him in an Irish graveyard, swearing his undying loyalty in the face of cosmic destiny. His shipmate. His partner.

His first and oldest friend.

Instinctively, Stan reached out to touch the hat, using the soft feel of the fabric to help ground him back to reality. "Ford's a good brother, Wings," he said gently. "He's the best brother in the whole universe. And that's why...that's why he can't know the truth." Shaking his head, Stan sagged in his seat, weighed down with every ounce of guilt and worry that had built up over the past month. "He's already puttin' himself under a lot of pressure for my sake, and no matter what I say, he ain't stoppin' anytime soon. So that's why I'm not gonna do or say anything that makes it any worse for him. No matter how he feels, he ain't responsible for this, and I ain't gonna let him face any of the consequences for my fuck-ups, you hear me? He deserves to be happy. I want him to be HAPPY. Not tired, not stressed, or worried or...or scared outta his mind."

That thought seemed to hit him the hardest, and he paused, lowering his gaze in contemplation for a moment or two. Then, he laughed, chuckling bitterly with a hollow smile on his face. "Well, whaddya know, Baby Doll? I guess Dad was right. I AM a forest fire. No matter how hard I try, I always end up goin' down in flames. And if Ford's not careful...sooner or later, he's just gonna burn up with me."

The hat stayed silent as Stan trailed off into deep, thoughtful stillness, listening to the roar of the engine and the sounds of nature that came in through the window. As time ticked on, he finished off his last cigarette and began to surf the radio once again.

_"We now return to - "_

_"Come on down to Rose's Diner, right off of Route - "_

_"Disco girl, comin' through - " _

_"Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels...."_

The moment Jackson Browne's voice started playing through the El Diablo's speakers, Stan's hand went still on the radio dial, and he looked down in pleasant surprise.

_"Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields...."_

Pulling away and shifting in his seat, Stan leaned back, one arm resting on the open window, the other hand at the wheel. "Takes me back," he said to himself. And despite the feelings that churned in his stomach with all the raw fury of the open ocean, a small smile formed at the corners of his lips as he listened to the familiar lyrics. He knew this song. He knew it well. He liked it when it came out back in 1977, and he liked it now. The easy melody, the upbeat words - the Seventies were some of the darkest times in his life, and in that darkness, very few things made him happy. Very few things would cheer him up enough for him to find the motivation to keep the light inside himself alive.

This song was one of them.

_"In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-on-one_

_I don't know where I'm running now, I'm just running on_

_Running on, running on empty,_

_Running on, running blind,_

_Running on, running into the sun_

_But I'm running behind..."_

Stan smiled as he hummed along to the lyrics, off-key but on rhythm. As he drove down the lonely forest roads, and the beginnings of a summer sunset filtered through the thick trees, he turned once more to the sunhat next to him. "You know," he mused, "I always wondered what would happen if you two ever had a chance to meet." Wincing at the memory of the exorcism, he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, laughing sadly. "It was a total disaster in the end...but back in the Eighties, I always hoped that after Ford came back home, maybe...I dunno." He shrugged. "Maybe the two of you would have been good friends. I can't explain it, but you both got this..._thing."_ He clumsily gestured with his free hand for a moment or two before scratching the back of his head and shrugging again. "It's hard to put into words, exactly. Like, you and me, we were always Yin and Yang, but you and Ford....you two would have been like birds of a feather. I used to think about that a lot, you know. Back when we were still figuring out the portal. Thoughts like that kept me goin', gave me hope for the future. And...and I think it would have been nice. Gettin' a chance to live my life with my two favorite people - my best friend, and my best girl. It would have been great. We could have had a lot of fun together."

As the music played softly in the background, Stan's smile faded a little. "You two would've really liked each other, Wings. I mean it."

He rounded a curve, the trees growing tall and casting shadows over the roads. As the light around him dimmed, Stan sighed and shook his head. "I wish you'd stayed, Babe. I wish you could've met Ford. REALLY met him, I mean. And I wish you could've met Soos. He's the guy I ended up turning the Shack over to. He's been with me for years. Kind of...goofy sometimes, but good as gold. He's gettin' married this summer. I'm his best man." Stan snorted, a flicker of pride washing over his face. "I wish you could've met Wendy. She's a local girl, worked the Gift Shop, when she wasn't slacking off or runnin' her mouth. What a spitfire. She was a lot of fun. And she never said it, but I think she really liked workin' at the Shack. And now that I think about it, I wish you could have seen the Shack, and all the new things we did to it over the years. You would have liked some of it! You could have helped me with some more ideas. But most of all, Wings, I wish..."

Stan's face fell, and his eyes glimmered with emotion. "....I WISH you could have been here to meet Dipper and Mabel. Those kids are my world, Sweetheart. They would have been yours too." He swallowed. "You would have loved 'em. And they would have loved you. "

His voice cracked at the end as a wave of intense, vulnerable feelings flooded his entire being. Stubbornly wiping the tears out of his eyes - tears? What tears? He just had something in his eyes, was all - he broke out into bitter, empty laughter once more. "What the Hell am I even doin'?" he snorted, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Sittin' next to this damn thing, talking to it like it's YOU that's here with me. But it ain't you, Wings. You ain't here anymore."

Eyes still damp, Stan reached down and gripped the brim of the hat tight. "But..." A tear rolled down his cheek. "But I wish you were."

At that moment, the song that was playing on the radio glitched and faded away into static.

"What the - ?!"

Jolting upright in his seat, Stan looked up at the radio as it began to keen with a loud droning sound. Scrambled voices and chopped up music were only just audible underneath the haunting cacophony that was spewing out of the speakers. Stan raised an eyebrow at the abrupt noise, and he reached out to adjust the radio dial.

But before he could touch it, it began to move on its own.

He pulled back, eyes widening as he realized that ALL of the dials and gadgets on the dashboard were now moving on their own. As the static grew louder and more chaotic, something in the back of his mind clicked, and his face fell in realization. _"Uh-oh."_

#  **"STANLEY PINES!"**

** **

** **

A familiar voice rang out through the air, with all the might and fury of a thunderstorm. And before Stan could fully process it, something - or rather, some_one_ \- landed on top of the car and punched a fist straight through the roof of the El Diablo.

"AAAAAAAH!"

Acting on instinct, Stan jerked his steering wheel to the right, sending the car in a chaotic tailspin. He swerved and spun in circles on the asphalt, screaming in panic as he tried to regain control. Gritting his teeth together, he somehow managed to guide the El Diablo to a relatively safe stop, coming to a screeching halt on the edge of the road. Clutching at his chest, Stan tried to regain his bearings as he glanced around, his ears sore from the overwhelming drone of the radio static. "Wings?" he wheezed, hope and fear blossoming on his face. "Wings?!"

A second later, a dark figure landed on the road some twenty or thirty feet in front of the Stanmobile. As they lay there facing away from him, his eyes lit up. Black dress. Blonde hair. Jolting out of his seat, Stan scrambled to unbuckle his seatbelt and throw the door to the El Diablo open, bursting out onto the road with an elated smile. _"Wings!_ You're back! You're okay!"

The Reaper didn't respond right away, her back still turned to him. But the happy grin on Stan's face began to fade as he watched the way her body seemed to shudder and spasm as she slowly got up. It was as if every single movement she made, no matter how small, was utter torture. Shivering and shaking as she got to her feet, he could hear her choppy, labored breaths even from the relatively great distance away, and he leaned forward in concern the moment he realized that she was _whimpering in pain_. She tried to steady herself on her wobbly, weak legs, but one of her feet gave way and she cried out as she nearly fell back onto the pavement. But she managed to catch herself just in time, leaning on something she had with her.

And when Stan looked down and saw a _cane,_ he knew something was very, very wrong.

"...W...Wings?" Forgetting his basic sense of self-preservation, Stan stepped forward. His voice rose in worry as he eyed the stains on her dress and the runs in her stockings, things that she would have NEVER accepted under normal circumstances. "Babe? S-Sweetie, what's wrong?"

She finally turned around to face him, and the sight of her caused him to freeze and fall silent in shock. Pale and sickly looking, she glared back at him through dozens and dozens of cuts and bruises, looking as if she had just come straight out of a boxing ring after a particularly bad fight. Her normally neat hair was disheveled and lopsided, her usual coat of makeup replaced by a smatter of Band-Aids that covered up some of the nastier scrapes on her face. But most shocking of all, there was a white medical eyepatch covering her left eye, a little too small to properly hide the scarred tissue around it. And as she stared back at him, her remaining eye narrowed in furious, chilling rage. _"There you are."_

"....Wings..." Caught off-guard by the state she was in, Stan remained frozen in his spot, too scared and disturbed to move. "S-Sugar, w-w-what HAPPENED to you? What's with the cane, why aren't you wal - ? H-Honey, your _eye - !"_

**_"Shut up!"_**

The uncharacteristic sharpness in her tone was enough to make the words die in his throat. Taking a few steps back, he watched anxiously as she began to make her way towards him, wincing in agony as she did. "Uh..." he stuttered, reaching into his jacket for the lighter and silently thanking his brother for forcing him to take it with him. "O-Okay, so! You're still p-pretty sore about w-what happened, huh? T...Oof. That was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it, Beautiful? Ah, jeez. Ah, _shit."_ As her eye glowed in anger at the mention of the exorcism, he swallowed thickly, his trembling fingers closing around the lighter and squeezing it tight. But for some reason, he found himself hesitating to pull it out, and he lifted his other hand in a universal gesture of surrender as the furious Reaper advanced on him like a lioness cornering her prey. "Y-you're still mad, I get it! That's fair, y'know, I'd be mad too! But Babe, Sugar, Sweetheart....it's me! It's Stan! L-Let's just...Honey, let's just talk about this - !"

**_"No."_** She shook her head at him, refusing to break eye contact as she forced herself to stand tall. "No more talking, no more mercy, no more ANYTHING! Stanley Pines, as a guide to the dead and the rightful Reaper of your immortal soul, I am here to claim your life! And I am _ordering_ you, ONE LAST TIME, to come with me THIS INSTA - _AAAH!"_

Before she could even take five steps, a loud _HOOONK_ rang through the air. Out of nowhere, a huge RV came barreling out of the pine trees, crashing into the Reaper and sending her flying across the road. Stan's jaw dropped open as the RV came to a screeching stop, the driver within craning his neck out of the window to see what had happened. "....Oh my God. WINGS!"

He bolted across the road to where she lay motionless on the asphalt, kneeling down beside her. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the unnatural angle her neck was in, her head twisted in an ugly fashion until it was almost completely upside down. With several of her other bones appearing to be broken, she looked more like a crumpled up marionette than an actual person. It was horrifying and heartbreaking all at once, and suddenly, everything else stopped mattering. "Wings?!" he cried, his voice high with panic. "Wings, talk to me!"

Her eyelids fluttered and her fingers twitched at the sound of his voice, but her breath was coming out in short, shallow puffs, her concave chest rising up and down like a hummingbird's wings. Reaching out to cradle her in his arms, but too scared to touch her for fear he'd make her injuries worse, Stan crouched down closer and called out to her again, the faintest memory of a name bubbling up to the surface of his mind. "Wings! Wings?! Nonono, come on, Honey, talk to me! Wings, can you hear me?! **Lena!**_ Can you hear me?!"_

** _"LEFT HOOK!"_ **

A sharp blow to the side of his face sent Stan flying backwards twenty feet, a fresh burst of pain blossoming forth and leaving him groaning and dizzy on the asphalt. From somewhere behind him, a hysterical cackle rang out through the air. "I think she heard you, _amigo!"_ laughed the man in the RV.

Tasting blood and seeing double, Stan sat up and looked around, his eyes falling on the hazy figure in the distance. The Reaper was rising up off the ground like Lazarus rising out of his tomb, pulled up by an unseen force like a puppet on strings. The air was filled with loud, wet cracking sounds as all of the broken bones in her body audibly _snapped_ back into place, a sickening sight that made his blood run cold. Slowly but surely, her body returned to its normal state, until finally, she reached up and twisted her broken neck back to its proper angle, her eye flying open and narrowing in disdain. "Don't you dare," she spat angrily, trembling with emotion, "Don't you DARE use my real name, you backstabbing traitor!"

_"Hooooooly SHIT."_ With a slight slur to his words, Stan rubbed his sore cheek and stared at her in fear. "Christ, I...Lena, I knew you were tough, but I didn't know you were THAT tough."

"There's a _lot_ you don't know about me, Stanley," she answered coolly. A black substance leaked out of the corner of her mouth as she spoke, and she took a moment to spit the blood out onto the asphalt, where it hissed and turned into purple smoke the second it hit the ground. Clenching her hands into fists, she began to walk towards him, noticeably limping as she ignored her cane for the moment. "Did you really think that you could escape this?! Did you honestly think that you won?! That your actions wouldn't have consequences?! That you could just _screw me over like that and get away with it?!"_

"N-No, I - Lena, Baby, j-just let me explain - !"

The Reaper brought her foot down on the ground, sending out a tremor so strong it set off the car alarms of the El Diablo and the RV and nearly knocked Stan off his feet.

"I _WARNED_ YOU, YOU FOOL!" she screamed, marching towards him faster. "I told you to come with me! I told you not to run! Do you know why?! Because I wanted to avoid this EXACT SAME SCENARIO! I didn't want this to be difficult! I didn't WANT to be the Bad Guy! But now, _guess what?! **NOW, I HAVE TO BE THE BAD GUY!"**_

"H-Hey," stammered Stan, backing away from her in fear. "Hey, hey, hey, calm down, Gorgeous!"

"Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!"

Stan cringed, realizing too late that he had said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. Boiling mad, the Reaper punched a tree to her left in her anger, splintering the wood effortlessly. "You sent me to HELL, you bastard!" she shouted. "You sent me to the actual, _literal, **Biblical HELL!**_ Do you know how hard it was to get out of there alive without any backup?! Without my _weapon,_ without my _WINGS?!_ Do you know what it's like to have to escape NINE CIRCLES of karmic misery and sin _in these heels?!"_

"Come on, Fortune, that ain't even fair! I didn't even have anything to do with that! Ford just...wait." Stan froze as her words fully sunk in. "Wait...y...your wings?" Blinking in surprise, he craned his neck to look over her shoulder, not noticing the brief flicker of vulnerability in the Reaper's eyes as he did. "Sweetheart...Magpie, what happened to your wings - ?"

"D-Don't you 'Magpie' me, you son of a bitch!" she snarled, dodging his question with a slight stutter. "After EVERYTHING I've ever done for you, after all the times I've went behind Jeremiah's back and risked EVERYTHING for your sake, you ended up stabbing me in the back the first chance you got!" Her voice wavered and broke. "I don't believe you! You stole from me, Stanley Pines - _ME!"_

_"WHOA!"_

Before he knew what was happening, Stan felt himself being lifted up by his jacket collar, dangling uselessly in the air. "Sweet Moses!" he breathed.

"You have exactly TEN SECONDS to give me back my scythe!" she shrieked. "Where is he?! What did you do with him?! ANSWER ME, PINES! ANSWER ME THIS INSTANT!"

"Easy, Baby, EASY - !"

"I! Am _NOT!_ Your _**'BABY'!"**_

_"¡Eh, tú! ¡Calaverita!"_

Stunned by the interruption, both Stan and the Reaper froze as the driver of the RV leaned his head out of his window, honking his horn as loudly and obnoxiously as he could. "Hey, you mind wrapping this up?! We got somewhere to be!"

Distracted from her own rage, the Reaper jerked her head around, blinking in surprise at the elderly Mexican man heckling her.

"Yeah, that's right!" called the man, continuing to honk his horn impatiently. "I'm talking to YOU, stupid! Tch." Tipping his cowboy hat out of his vision, he looked her up and down with disdain. _"Estúpida gringa..._Get out of the road before I run you over again!" Pouting like a spoiled child, he began to honk his horn even harder, apparently not noticing the growing rage on her face, or the way Stan seemed to be cringing away from her in dreadful anticipation. "Hey! Hey, _Güera!_ Hey _Güera,_ are you even listening to me? _¿Tienes oídos? ¿Hablas Inglés?_ QUIT STARING AT ME AND MOVE YOUR FAT BUTT!"

_ **"RRRRRAAAAGGGHHH!"** _

There was a flash of movement, a streak of black, and a loud shattering sound. Cursing in surprise, the driver of the RV leapt back in his seat as his windshield flew apart, completely obliterated by the Reaper's fist. Having instinctively covered his face to protect himself, he looked up, completely mollified. Surrounded by broken glass, the Reaper glared down at him from where she stood on the hood of the RV. **"STAY OUT OF THIS!"** she shouted.

For a moment, the stranger was utterly still in the wake of her destruction, staring up at her through his shaggy hair in silence. Then, a slow, lecherous grin spread across his face, and he blatantly dragged his eyes up and down her body in approval. "Yes, _Ma'am."_

The Reaper stood back, stunned, disgusted and creeped out by his flirtatious reaction. She looked around at herself, and at the mess she had created, in a mixture of growing embarrassment and dawning horror. It finally seemed to her that in her temper tantrum, she was making QUITE a scene, one that no sane person could ever brush off as just a typical lover's spat. Flushing bright red, she leapt off of the hood, avoiding the stranger's eyes. Straightening herself up, she tucked some loose hair behind her ear and cleared her throat in an effort to compose herself. "L-Look Pines, I'm...I'm sorry for getting carried away. This isn't about me. I'm here on business, so I will ask you _again._ Where is my - ? Wait, what?! Stanley! What are you doing?! _No!"_

The Reaper's jaw dropped as she heard the sound of the El Diablo's ignition, and she whirled around just in time to see Stan peel away down the road in his car. "Wait!" she cried, stumbling over herself as she tried to chase after him. "Pines! Pines, come back!" Coughing from the exhaust left by the El Diablo, her legs finally gave way and she fell over the road, landing on the asphalt with a yelp. All of the anger in her expression evaporated, and with her voice wavering with worry, she desperately reached out after him. "STANLEY PINES, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"

But it was too late. He was nothing but a faint red dot on the horizon. And within moments, he wasn't even that anymore.

Breathing hard, the Reaper sat up and watched him disappear as the sun began to sink behind the tops of the pine trees. It was darker now, and a fog began to creep out of the forest and leave everything covered in an ominous mist. Swallowing in fear, the Reaper squeezed her eyes shut in bitter regret. "I'm sorry, Stan." she murmured. "But this is for your own good."

As the RV disappeared in the fog, the Reaper pulled herself up to her feet. Snatching up the cane she had abandoned earlier, her gaze hardened, her remaining good eye steely and cold. "Pines, whether we like or not, I have a _job_ to do," she said, walking into the mist.

"And failure is NOT an option."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugggghhh guys i'm so, so sorry but these chapters always end up way longer than i expect them to be. i really didn't want to split this one up into three, instead of two like i planned, but there was just gonna be WAY too much to take in if i didn't. part three will be up in a few days! i'm so sorry but thank you for giving this (very) self indulgent fic a chance and i hope you all are enjoying the story as much as i'm having fun writing it. and, as always, thank you for reading.


End file.
